


Ahead in the Count

by kurzelx



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, F/F, Fever Pitch AU, Fluff and Smut, Sort Of, The AU no one asked for, angst later maybe?, brittany is a baseball superfan, i promise to avoid baseball puns and metaphors as much as possible, lots of baseball talk, santana learns to love it... hopefully
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-03-30 08:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 56,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13947711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurzelx/pseuds/kurzelx
Summary: “Wait, what about the whole Dodgers thing?”Mike hesitates a little but then, Quinn’s clutching your arm. “Is that Brittany?”The TV in the bar’s set to ESPN and your mouth drops open as you see her on screen. Half of her face is painted in blue, her blonde hair wild under a blue L.A. cap, as she screams into the reporter’s mic,“I’m Brittany S. Pierce and I bleed Dodger blue!”After a few tense seconds, Mike replies weakly, “ThatDodgers thing.”//Over the course of 162 games (give or take), Santana Lopez learns a lot about baseball, love, and one Los Angeles Dodgers superfan named Brittany S. Pierce.





	1. Off-Season

**Author's Note:**

> Last November, after I was nursing my sorrows after a grueling World Series defeat (spoiler alert!) as a bitter Dodgers fan, I healed my broken heart with a ton of baseball movies, one of them being Fever Pitch. Around that time, I jumped right back into Glee after a years-long hiatus and rekindled my love for Brittana so all I could imagine was a Brittana version of it. So, since then, I've just had this idea wiggling in the back of my brain and I finally decided to write it and this is what came out of it. This will be pretty loosely based on the film and is basically just an excuse for me to wax poetic about baseball and the 2017 Dodgers and these two idiots that I can never stop sobbing over. If you're a Giants fan, this won't be pretty in future chapters.
> 
> This is my first fic in almost a decade, and this chapter probably jumps all over the place, so, well, be easy on me!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait, what about the whole Dodgers thing?”
> 
> Mike hesitates a little but then, Quinn’s clutching your arm. “Is that Brittany?”
> 
> The TV in the bar’s set to ESPN and your mouth drops open as you see her on screen. Half of her face is painted in blue, her blonde hair wild under a blue L.A. cap, as she screams into the reporter’s mic, _“I’m Brittany S. Pierce and I bleed Dodger blue!”_
> 
> After a few tense seconds, Mike replies weakly, “ _That_ Dodgers thing.”

\---

_It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. - A. Bartlett Giamatti_

_Love is the most important thing in the world, but baseball is pretty good, too. - Yogi Berra_

\---

**January**

"You're going on a date tonight."

You look up from your laptop with an arched eyebrow, not stopping your fingers from tapping away at the keys. Your best friend, Quinn, waltzes into your office, her blunt blonde bob slightly swaying from how brisk she walks through your sleek office doors.

"Well, hello to you too, Quinn. No, I'm not in the middle of something, please _do_ come in," you drawl sarcastically, picking up one hand from your laptop to sweep the air in front of you, gesturing for her to take a seat in front of your desk.

She rolls her eyes at you, dumping her large tote briefcase into one of the plush armchairs in front of your desk before plopping down unceremoniously into the other. She crosses her legs primly and folds her hands on top of her knees, tapping her pointer finger on top of her knee incessantly as she waits. You ignore her as you refocus on the screen in front of you, finishing out your email and typing deliberately slower than usual, largely to avoid the conversation that Quinn is insistent on having nearly every time you see her.

Really, you know she means well—being best friends since high school, through college (and surviving that never-to-be-talked-about experimental phase that Quinn subjected you to albeit not too unwillingly—twice), and into the prime years of your budding advertising careers means that Quinn's seen, been through, and put up with a lot of shit over the years.

The most recent shitstorm that Quinn's annoyingly insistent on "supporting" you through (and by _supporting_ , you mean _setting you up with every twenty-something available woman in Los Angeles_ ) is the fact that she thinks (mistakenly) you're a borderline workaholic and incapable of having an actual relationship.

You've been working for a bustling advertising agency in the heart of downtown Los Angeles since you graduated from UCLA with your Marketing degree. Quinn followed suit but with her Public Relations degree, virtually ensuring that you two would take over the SoCal advertising world by storm. And that you have, representing the hottest new entertainment acts and launching award-winning national ad campaigns. You enjoy what you do and you're damn good at it and _so what_ if your dates never last more than one night and the closest thing you've ever had to a relationship in the past few years is you actually remembering the girl's name by the end of the night.

You press the Send key with finality, sighing tiredly as you look up at Quinn. "For the umpteenth time, Q, it's a _hard pass_ on whatever up-and-coming Internet pop star you've set me up with tonight."

Quinn holds up a perfectly manicured finger. "First of all, I only set you up with that _one_ pop star. Second of all, don't start with me, S, alright? It's not my fault that you're obsessed with sabotaging every single date you go on. What was your excuse with the last girl again?" She raises an eyebrow at you, challenging you.

You roll your eyes, bringing your fingers up to your temples soothingly to will away the building migraine. "I told you, she was… boring," you finish flatly.

Quinn barks a sharp laugh, sounding like she's laughing _at_ you. "Boring? Santana, that's exactly what I mean. She was a _two-time_ Olympic gold medalist."

"Yeah, and there's only so many times I can hear about her insane training routine before I actually _went_ insane."

"But you still slept with her." Quinn gives you a knowing smirk.

You scoff, because, yes, sure, you _did_ end up throwing back three glasses of whiskey to get through the date before tugging her into a bathroom stall,but that's besides any high-and-mighty point that Quinn wants to make. "Have I mentioned that _you're a bitch?_ I'm not going. I don't need to go."

Quinn slams her fist on your desk. "Bull _shit_ , S! Yes, you need to go. You need to get over this shit. _Seriously._ "

"Oh, Lord, here we go—"

"You need to get over _whatever_ it is that makes you find any little thing wrong with a girl to wreck any chance of having actual emotions and feelings and, yknow, _happiness_."

You grit your teeth. Quinn's really starting to piss you off. Who gave her the damn right to barge in here and give you this psychoanalysis bullshit? You're about to rip her open a new one and tell her as such when her glare softens and she gives you that _look_. The one you hate because it's goddamn Quinn Fabray, your best friend, giving you the _I-care-about-you-even-though-you're-a-shithead_ look.

"Listen, S, I'm just concerned, you know?" She smooths her hand over your desk. "I feel like we haven't gotten much time to hang out since I met Sam and things are getting serious with him and I'm _happy._ "

The corners of her lips turn up and you can't really get mad at her for it. You've noticed how she lights up when that blonde-haired, big-lipped goof walks in, even though you find him and his constant impressions slightly obnoxious. She's the happiest she's been in ages and, as her best friend, you're happy for her, but yeah, it's been a little lonely. You don't really care enough about anyone else you work with to have other friends and you work too much anyway to sustain a friendship, let alone a relationship. Quinn's always been there and understood, but lately, she's been with Sam and you've been here, working.

"And I just want you to be happy, too, and find what I have with him." She waits a beat, holding your eye contact, and you get it, you really do, so you let out a stiff nod.

But then again, she really needs to stop giving you these emotional pep talks. "Alright, damn, Fabray, don't break out the _waterworks_."

She rolls her eyes and flings one of the pens on your desk to you that you narrowly avoid. "Why do you have to ruin every serious moment with your smartass mouth?"

You give her a smirk and shrug. "It's what I do. But seriously, I can't go tonight. I have to work."

She gives you an incredulous look. "You're working _another_ weekend? You're working like a goddamn maniac and that's saying something considering all the overtime we all put in for the holiday campaign. Seriously, when was the last time you took a weekend off?"

You bristle a little bit as you pause. Now that she mentions it, you _have_ worked the past few weekends since…

"Okay, so maybe since last October?" You shrug nonchalantly, trying to play it off. "It's not a big deal."

"Since last year?!" Quinn shrieks.

You flinch, scowling at her. "Jesus, Q, take my ear off, would you. And the new year _barely_ just started so don't be a dramatic bitch."

She shakes her head, her mouth set in a determined frown. She points at you. "Leave your laptop at the office for the weekend and _do not take it home_. The Super Bowl campaign doesn't launch for another few weeks. You're going on a date tonight and it's final."

You throw your head back in exasperation, rolling your eyes as you mouth _"Oh my god"_ to the ceiling.

"Don't give me that, you _better_ give this one a chance."

You snap your head back to Quinn and snark, "Sorry, did you _not_ just give me an hour-long lecture about how I'm incapable of having actual emotions?"

She waves her hand in the air dismissively. "That's why I think you need to give this girl a chance. She's," Quinn pauses, "different."

You arch your eyebrow at her. "Different, how?"

"Well, okay, I _might_ admit that the girls I've set you up with so far have been a little… much—"

"Fucking understatement," you mutter.

"—But that's why I think this one's different! She works with Mike and Sam bumped into her at the studio and he's the one that actually set the date up." Quinn finishes and sits back, obviously pleased with herself.

You stare at her blankly. "That doesn't make me feel any better about the date if Trouty Mouth was the one that set it up. Does he even have a functioning gaydar? Hell, he thought _GameBoi_ night at the club was going to be a _video game_ competition, despite it being wall-to-wall Asian gays."

Quinn picks up her head from looking at her nails, giving you a bored expression. "Oh, are you done now?"

"You know what, fuck you, Fabray, I don't need this sh—"

"I've met her."

You drop silent. Shit, Quinn must be serious if she's screening the girl past her for the first time. She usually never gives the girls the time of day past the initial _Oh, I know someone and you guys would go great together_ stage. "And…?"

Quinn smirks, knowing she's got you intrigued. Damn her. "Well, you'll just have to show up and find out now, won't you."

You scoff. "Please tell me this isn't a blind date." Her smirk grows larger. "Q, dammit, I said _no blind dates!_ What are we, sixteen?"

She holds her hands up in defense. "Hey, don't look at me. It was her terms."

You let out a groan of frustration. "You're seriously not going to tell me _anything_ about this girl? What if she's a crazy stalker?"

She barks out another laugh. "Oh, trust me, she's not. That's why I said, and I'll repeat myself a third damn time, _you're going on a date tonight._ "

You sit back in your chair, curiosity piqued. If Quinn's this insistent on this girl, then maybe you might take her up on the date. She can sense you're caving in because her smirk bursts into a smug grin. She stands up abruptly, grabbing her tote and slinging it over her shoulder as she turns to walk out.

She lists off an address to a bar you've never been to before. "7pm. Her name's Brittany. Wear red so she knows it's you," Quinn calls out to you from over her shoulder, already breezing through your office doors and waggling her fingers in farewell.

 _Brittany._ You try it out on your tongue.

Then, panic sets in as you realize you have _nothing_ to fucking wear.

/

After six wardrobe changes, two full dresser drawers overturned all over your bedroom, and ten outfit pictures to Quinn before you get a text back that just says, _"Calm the fuck down and yes to the second one,"_ you're at the bar waiting with ten minutes to spare.

You're nervous.

And you'll never say it out loud, but Quinn kind of has a fucking point, despite how insufferable her holier-than-thou, _I-know-what's-best-for-you_ shtick is.

You don't know _why_ you've never been able to have anything more than a string of failed dates and nameless one night stands. You know it's not for lack of trying, because, shit, you're not a damn cynic or bitter or anything. You know it'd be nice to be pouring out two wine glasses instead of one when you get home from work. It'd be nice to have a date on your arm at your campaign launch parties. You do feel a twinge of envy whenever you're around Quinn and Sam and their happiness just radiates off them in waves, no matter how much shit you give Quinn.

And yeah, you might be a raging bitch, but you know that there's nothing really _wrong_ with you, despite maybe working a little too hard. And really, you can't blame Quinn for her lack of success in matchmaking. The women she's set you up with are _great_ on paper—successful, beautiful, established. It's almost ridiculous how picture-perfect they all sound whenever Quinn strolls into your office with the latest tales of how her family's Beverly Hills mixer got her talking with the most _interesting_ woman and how they're a leader in _this_ field or accomplished in _that_ field and wouldn't it be nice if you two went on a date and so on and so forth.

But an hour into each date, you just don't… _feel_ it. The spark. There's always _something_ holding you back too from seeing if that spark ends up coming alive in a second date. A reason you can't get over, an annoying quirk that's just a deal breaker, an attitude you just have a problem with, no matter how prestigious the woman might be. You can't help it that you just haven't _clicked_ with anyone.

But the way Quinn said that this girl is _different_ is making your stomach twist in hope and nerves. Maybe this one is the—

And that's the most you'll allow yourself to fantasize, because, shit, Quinn's sentimental guilt trip earlier musthave rubbed off on you. You knock back a swig of your whiskey and coke and shake your head clear of your thoughts. You're here for a date and even if the _spark_ isn't there, well, you can at least get a quick orgasm at the end of it. It's crass, but hey, it could be worse.

You smooth out your red dress over your hips, shifting your weight from one heel to another. You glance around the bar, looking for someone who might be your mystery date, when you hear her.

And she happens to be _right_ over your shoulder.

"You're gonna need socks."

You jump, whirling around in surprise, and suck in a sharp breath.

So, Quinn could've been fucking nice enough to give you a heads up because shit, she's fucking _gorgeous._ The other women were beautiful, but she's… she's _breathtaking_.

Her blonde hair falls into loose waves over one of her shoulders, her blue eyes, accentuated with smokey eyeshadow and long thick lashes, are piercing right through you, and one corner of her lips, luscious and painted in the most kissable shade of red lipstick, is lifted up in an amused smile. Her skintight blue dress highlights her slim frame and curved hips. You trail your eyes even further down toned legs that go on for _days_ , stopping on black Converse, which makes your eyes widen a little in surprise at the odd shoe pairing. You snap your eyes back to her clear ocean eyes as your cheeks heat up. _Leering,_ really, Lopez? Smooth.

You blank for another second, speechless, and she giggles, the sound of it making you want to coax it out of her for the rest of the night. You finally recall what she said but your eyebrows just knit together as you stammer out, "S-sorry?"

Her eyes twinkle as she steps closer to you, trapping you against the bar. Goosebumps erupt along your arms as she nears and the feeling of attraction settles low in your gut. She nods downwards, a half-smile teasing her lips, and keeps those hypnotizing blue eyes on yours for a few seconds before dragging her gaze slowly down the course of your body. "You don't have any socks on."

You blink as you follow her gaze and it lands on your heeled feet. You look back up at her.

"Are you Brittany?" you blurt out, praying internally that this blue-eyed bombshell is in fact your mystery date because _dear god,_ it's only been less than a minute and your skin is on fire and you haven't reacted to this quickly to a woman since, well, ever, and it's kind of embarrassing if you dwell on it a little too much.

Her smile spreads into a full grin, her head cocked as she stares at you amusedly. "You haven't been here before, huh?"

She still hasn't stepped back and her proximity is kind of making you a little dizzy so you press your back further against the bar just to get a little bit more air. "No, but," you look around, seeing if you're missing anything because she's giving you a look like you are, "why would I need socks?"

She giggles and just points up to the ceiling. "For that."

You glance up and then, you hear it. Crashes and clatters rumbling from the second level. It sounds like—

"Bowling? There's a bowling alley in this bar?" Your nose scrunches up in confusion.

"And then some. You'll see. Now, come on, gorgeous." She reaches out and your heart stops but then she's reaching past you and picking up your drink. She gives you a wink before chugging back the rest of your whiskey and slamming the glass back down on the bar. She eyes you as she wipes a drop of alcohol off her bottom lip with a brush of her thumb and your heart jumps into your throat at the sight. "We've got an alley with our names on it."

/

You're actually having fun. On a date.

You might have to send Quinn a gift basket.

"So, how did you even _find_ this place?"

Brittany grins, her eyes sparkling as she leans in closer to you. She whispers lowly, "Isn't it cool?"

Warmth spreads through you as she nears again, but you don't move away. You're a couple drinks in, loosening your nerves. "Definitely," you whisper back in the same low tone. "Although the fact that you had a spare pair of socks in your clutch makes me think that you must bring your dates here all the time." You arch an eyebrow at her.

She laughs loudly, throwing her head back, the sound and sight pleasing. She eases back into her seat. "No, you're actually the first. But I figured you weren't expecting to go bowling tonight, so I came prepared."

"Good answer." You tease, and she lifts a shoulder in reply, fluttering her eyelashes playfully. You glance up at the screen. "You're up, by the way."

Brittany stands up, raising her eyebrows at you challengingly, a smirk playing on her lips, before turning around and picking up her bowling ball. She stands straight as the pins shuffle themselves into place. She takes a long graceful stride, then another, and swings her arm in a perfect arc, sending the ball down the lane. She tilts her head, watching the ball glide down and barrel towards the cluster of pins and then—

"YES!" Brittany whirls around, a triumphant grin on her face.

You shake your head. "You've got to be kidding me." The screen showing the game's score confirms it: another strike. "This is _not_ fair. How are you doing this?"

Brittany skips back down the lane, plopping back into her seat next to you, her knee knocking into yours. "Okay, so I might bowl a _little_ bit."

"A little bit," you deadpan.

She glances up at the screen and notices the large gap between your dismal score and hers and bursts into a giggle. "Okay, maybe a _lot_."

You laugh with her, your cheeks aching from how wide you're grinning. "A lot is an understatement." You stand, grabbing your bowling ball and getting into position as the pins reset themselves.

You throw her a look from over your shoulder and find her eyes alight and trained on you, an easy grin on her face. You point down at your feet. "For the record, these shoes do _not_ go with my outfit."

She bursts into another laugh just as you whirl your ball down the lane and it crashes into _two_ pins this time.

/

After Brittany beat you two times over in bowling, she tugged you by the wrist to a section of the second level that features even more games. There's dartboards all along one wall, a foosball table in the corner that has a rowdy crowd yelling around it, and smaller groups crowded around tables with various board games.

"Maybe you'll do better at this one." She plants you both in front of a table with large life-sized wooden blocks stacked neatly on top of each other.

You blink a couple times, scratching your nose to hide your growing smile behind your hand. "I am _terrible_ at this one."

"How can you be terrible at Jenga? It's, like, the easiest game ever." She has her hands on her hips and looks a little offended now, but one corner of her lips is twitching upwards.

It's the most adorable thing ever.

You give her a look and step up to the table to evaluate the pieces. But you wobble a little bit on your heels because you're more than a couple drinks in and she chuckles.

"Oh boy."

You narrow your eyes and point at her. "Don't distract me."

She seems incredibly amused at how serious you're taking this and holds her hands up in defense, taking a step back.

You eye a loose wooden block at the edge of one of the rows and easily wiggle it out. You smirk, satisfied, as you place the block on top.

"Not bad," she teases. You hold your hands out, shrugging as if it's no big deal.

Brittany crouches a little beside you, evaluating the rows of wooden blocks. She perks back up, finding her target.

"See, the trick is…" she taps a finger against a block in the middle of one of the rows. The block doesn't budge.

She reaches out, knocking a knuckle softly against the block, and you see the block start to give. "You have to give some of these…" She trails off as the block starts inching out of the structure slowly.

You're fascinated because the structure is starting to shake because of how tightly the block was wedged in there, but she seems undeterred, her tongue poking out of her lips as she focuses on inching out the block.

The rows of blocks are wobbling even more insecurely now and you flinch, expecting the rows to start crashing down, but she pauses, letting the rows settle. You hold your breath. She starts up again, poking the block out a little bit further.

"A little… more… love," she finishes, catching the block as it falls out with her other hand on the opposite end of the structure. She wiggles the block in the air before placing it next to your block on top, a pleased smile on her face.

You're kind of impressed and it must show because she asks, "What?"

You bite down your smile and shake your head. "You're just something else."

Her blush makes your chest bloom with warmth.

/

"Getting nervous?"

You eye her through one of the gaps in the wooden tower of blocks. Brittany's grinning at you.

"No," you scoff, but you hesitate in reaching out towards another block when she makes an uncertain noise as your hands nears it.

You've been playing for awhile now and the tower has gotten _really_ tall. It's above your head now and every block you two withdraw comes with a nerve-wracking tilt.

Your hand twitches towards another block and she makes the same noise. You laugh. "Stop trying to psych me out."

Her grin just grows even wider. "I'm just trying to help you out here."

You wave her off. "I got this."

The blonde giggles but remains quiet to let you focus.

You zero in on a block, using the technique she showed you earlier and tapping against one end of it. But at this point, you both have taken out all the looser blocks so this one is jammed tightly underneath the row above it.

The tower wobbles.

"So how did you know?" You ask her, your voice a little strained as you try to keep your mind off the way the tower is starting to tilt.

"Know what?"

You give the block another tap and the tower tilts the other way slightly. "That it was me. That I was your date." You duck your head to eye her through the gaps in the tower.

Brittany flushes a little bit but she meets your eyes steadily. Her eyes look a little darker, muddled slightly with the glasses of whiskey you both have been drinking through the night, but there's something else there.

"I didn't," she admits. You cock your head, holding her gaze, as you give the block another tap with your knuckle. "Know, I mean. I didn't know it was you."

You draw your eyes back to the block, majority of it almost out from underneath the row above it. "But there were other girls wearing red downstairs," you point out, giving the block another tap.

She hums. "I didn't notice."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but, I mean, even if I did, it wouldn't have mattered."

"Why?" You ask distractedly because the block is _right_ there and it's so close, it just needs just a little bit more—

"Because as soon as I saw you—" your hand freezes in its place, "—I knew I wanted you." Your stomach flips. You look back at her through the gaps.

She shrugs, like it's a matter of fact, like she's commenting on the weather, but her eyes meet yours with an intensity burning behind them that lights your skin ablaze, and you can feel the air shift between you.

Her eyes drop to your lips and you lick them in response.

But then her eyes are shooting upwards and widening as she cries out, "Watch out!"

You look up but it's too late. The tower is tilting forward and you barely skirt out of the way before the blocks crash onto the table and pieces scatter to the floor, clattering against each other. You wince, the noise jarring, and the commotion makes nearby groups turn towards you.

You look over to Brittany and her hand is clasped over her mouth, shoulders shaking as she giggles furiously. You start giggling along with her and soon, you're both doubled over the table, hands clutching your stomachs as you bust out in laughter.

You shake your head, wiping the corner of your eye. "I told you I was terrible at this game."

She grins, still chuckling. "Okay, now I believe you."

/

The bar has a nice patio overlooking the city and you and Brittany are sitting on two lounge chairs in front of a fireplace, swirling glasses of whiskey and coke. The music from the first level is filtering its way up, the bass thudding in the background. The alcohol has settled nicely into a heady buzz, your head slightly fuzzy from the whiskey and the way Brittany's blue eyes are skating over your legs as you cross them. You've been talking for hours, the view gorgeous in front of you, a perfect view of Los Angeles and the sky is surprisingly clear of smog so you can the city lit up in all its glory.

You never want this night to end.

"...and so Mike came up to me after I finished my class and asked if I was open to being an instructor at his studio and that was that."

"Well," you lean forward and curl your fingers around her forearm, "I'll have to catch one of your classes at the studio." Her eyes are focused on your fingers as they trail the inside of her arm and you see her take a shaky breath.

You pull away, the pads of your fingertips searing.

"Definitely," she says dazedly. She blushes a little and clears her throat. "What about you?"

You take a sip of your drink. "I work in advertising, mostly for entertainment acts, but we represent a couple of larger brands too."

She asks for one and when you mention the brand, her eyes widen and adoration surges in your chest at the sight.

"I _love_ them! I always love their Super Bowl commercials, too. Wait, don't tell me... are you working on one for them?" She whispers conspiratorially, her eyes bright with excitement as she leans forward.

You laugh and nod. "Guilty. It's an insane amount of work, though. I'm surprised Quinn was able to wrangle me out of the office for tonight," you catch the look that crosses her face so you're quick to reassure her, "but I'm glad I did."

Brittany brings her drink up to her lips, a smile curving around the edge of the glass. "Good." She takes a sip and you watch the expanse of her neck as she tilts her head back. "She's pretty intense. Your friend, Quinn."

You groan. "I'm sorry about her. I did _not_ know she was going to give you the third degree."

"Well, good thing I went to M.I.T.," she jokes and you grin at the new information, eyebrows shooting up. She gives a modest shrug to confirm it, a bashful smile on her face.

"What else don't I know about you?" You ask in a breath, and the question comes out softer than you had intended.

"Well…" She eyes you for a moment, eyes tracing over the lines of your face, the curve of your cheekbones, before landing on your lips. You feel your heart thud against your chest. "I'm into baseball..."

You hum in acknowledgement. You shift forward in your seat and set your glass down on the table in front of you.

"I…" She mirrors you, setting her glass down and shifting forward in her seat until your knees touch. "…have a cat."

"That's nice," you murmur as she slowly moves closer. She's an inch away and now you're breathing the same air and all you hear is the blood roaring in your ears and how she swallows thickly. You're so close that you can see the way her eyes are half-lidded, how her tongue darts out to wet her lips, how the flames from the fireplace cast shadows upon her skin and lights up her darkened blue eyes, and you're breathless.

"And I… really want to kiss you right now," she whispers, her eyes flicking back up to yours.

You close your eyes and close the distance and you feel it.

The _spark_.

You've felt it lingering all night like an undercurrent, always under the surface, from the moment you turned around and saw her. You've felt it every time your fingers grazed or when the sound of her laugh bubbled in your chest or when she placed a palm low on your back as she led you around the bar. You've felt it pulsing whenever you've made eye contact, smoldering as her eyes lingered on you, in the air between you when she comes near.

But this feels like you've come alive and you gasp against her lips.

She keeps her lips against yours with just the barest of pressure and tilts her head slightly, nose nudging against yours. You can feel every single hair on the nape of your neck stand, and you savor the feeling of her warm lips against yours for a second before you pull away softly.

You open your eyes and find hers still closed. You breathe out, "Was that okay?"

She blinks her eyes open slowly, her eyelashes fluttering lazily, and the way her blue eyes bore into yours makes your stomach tighten into knots. A smile spreads across her lips, her eyelids drawing half-shut as she nods and whispers out a breathy, "Yeah." She closes her eyes and you do too and your lips surge back together with a quicker urgency.

She takes your bottom lip in between hers and swipes her tongue against it and you shudder. Her hand curls along your jaw, bringing you closer, as she presses her mouth more firmly against yours, and you can feel her smile. She kisses you hotly, her thumb brushing against the underside of your jaw, and when you prod your tongue against her lips, she parts them with a whimper and your tongues slide softly against each other.

You've never kissed anyone like this, you've never _felt_ like this, where fireworks are bursting behind your eyelids and your heart is hammering in your chest. Brittany's lips are soft and warm and she tastes of sharp whiskey and sweet soda and an intoxicating taste of just _her_ that you flick your tongue against the roof of her mouth to taste more of it. Your head is swimming, the alcohol making the sensations of her teeth nipping at your lip before sucking it into her mouth before doing the same to the other feel even more intense, your stomach tightening and rolling as a scorch of heat flushes through your body, making your toes curl.

You kiss for long, hot moments, and it feels so damn good that every time she pulls away for a quick breath, you follow her lips, gasping after her. She does the same when you tilt your forehead against hers to suck in a breath of air, her fingers tugging your jaw back towards her and pressing your lips against hers. Your knee slides in between hers as you urge closer to her, your hands trailing along her shoulders to curl into her hair. You scratch your nails against the base of her neck and her lips tremble and so do you.

She finally breaks away with a gasp, leaning her forehead against yours.

"Wow," you rasp out, your eyes still shut. You exhale shakily and you can feel your breath mingling with hers.

"Wow," she echoes with a whisper and you blink your eyes open to find sparkling blue.

You feel something pass between you two as you look into her eyes. Her pupils are wide, flecks of silver dotting the blue, and everything feels…

Perfect.

You breathe it all in, committing to memory how her hand is still cupping your cheek, your fingers tangled in blonde hair, the warmth spreading through every single nerve in a mix of alcohol, the nearby flames, and the way Brittany makes you feel, and the city alive around you. You feel something inside you click into place and you think maybe she feels it too, because she gives you a soft smile, her eyes shining, that makes your heart race even faster before she dips her head and presses your lips together once more.

/

But the night eventually does have to end.

After a long while of slow, languid kisses, a server awkwardly coughed beside you two to break you up and asked if you wanted to close out your tab, and you blushed and refused to make eye contact as you scribbled out your signature. Brittany found this amusing the whole time, giggling at your embarrassment, and looped her arm in yours as you both walked out of the bar.

You stop in front of the exit, the downtown streets around you still bustling with nighttime activity. "So…"

She unlinks her arm from yours, trailing her hand down the inside of your arm and brushing against the side of your thigh, before stepping back. "So…" she repeats, her tone lilting, but her blue eyes are dark again. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth.

She wants you.

You can see it in the way her eyes are trailing down your body, in how she hasn't been able to keep her hands off you since you've kissed, blunt nails scratching just below the hem of your dress as she bumps into you, in the heat coming off her skin.

And you want her too.

It'd be so easy to take her back to yours and pin her up against your front door and tangle your mouths together. To slip a thigh between those legs and hitch her dress up just enough and stumble into your bedroom with the alcohol still buzzing through both of you.

And really, before tonight and with anyone else, that's exactly what you would be doing right now. Hell, you were even thinking that was the plan just earlier tonight.

But you're remembering the way she squealed with delight when she bowled three strikes in a row. You're remembering the way her laugh made your chest ache in the best way. You're remembering how she teased you effortlessly, like second nature, like you've known each other for years, when you'd bowl your ball straight into the gutter for five frames in a row. You're remembering all the stolen glances through gaps in wooden blocks and the way her hand clutched your shoulder as she doubled over in laughter after you sent the tower crashing and how you felt the warmth of her palm through the thin fabric of your dress.

You're remembering how she wrinkled her nose when she recounted how Quinn grilled her, down to questions about her favorite animal, and the way your entire body shook with how hard you laughed at her mimicking Quinn's dumbfounded expression when she told Quinn her running theory about dolphins. You're remembering the way she smiled into your lips and the way she looked right after you kissed her, in a daze and staring at you like she couldn't believe that you're real.

And yeah, you want her, god, do you _want_ her, but you want something else more.

So you lean in, slowly, surely, and her eyelids flutter shut, and you press a soft kiss to her mouth, sweet and lasting blissful seconds, before pulling away.

She looks at you in that hazy way and you feel the _spark_ between you two linger and you smile.

"Can I see you again?" You ask shyly and her eyes brighten.

She tucks a lock of your raven-black hair behind your ear and trails the tips of her fingers along the side of your face. "Totally," she breathes out and the smile she gives you, dazzling and earnest and _justforyou_ , makes it all worth it.

You're still standing there, a goofy grin on your face, cheeks sore from the smile you've had on all night, when she gets into her cab and mouths _"Call me"_ through the window, and you let out a happy, almost delirious sigh.

You owe Quinn a hundred fucking gift baskets.

/

You're peeling off your dress and floating through your bedroom, humming a nameless tune under your breath, when your phone lights up.

_Guessing it went well if you haven't texted me a death threat by now. Told you so. Spill the deets over lunch on Monday, bitch. You're buying. – Q_

You roll your eyes but really, even she can't kill your high, and well, you do owe her for setting you and Brittany up, even if she almost scared her off with letting Scary Quinn come out to play.

Brittany. The thought of her sends you reeling back to memories still fresh from the night and you smile.

Your phone buzzes again.

_Had fun tonight, gorgeous. Next time, you pick the time and place and maybe something you're actually good at. ;)- Brittany_

You giggle as you tap out, _Not my fault you're good at everything. And I mean,_ everything _. Goodnight, Britt._

A reply comes instantly. _Goodnight, San. xx_

You fall into bed with a smile still on your face, a vision of blonde hair and blue eyes dancing behind your eyelids as you drift off to sleep.

/

"Spill."

You spare a glance at the doorway and lo and behold, it's Quinn, her _I-told-you-so_ smirk already in place.

But you're still in high spirits from Friday night so you roll your eyes with a grin and waste no time admitting, "It was perfect. She was perfect."

Quinn's smirk breaks into a wide grin, the width almost matching yours. "I told you so!" You bring your hands up to shield your face, cheeks already warming and Quinn absolutely _gushes,_ "Look at you! Wow, Brittany must've done a number on you."

You snap your head up and narrow your eyes at her. "Speaking of which, Jesus, Q, did you have to scare the girl to death before she even met me?"

Quinn has the decency to look a little ashamed as she fully enters your office and takes a seat across from you. "Was I really that bad?"

"Yes, you _idiot_ , Brittany was telling me the insane questioning you put her through before Sam had to step in and deactivate Scary Quinn," you hiss.

"Hey, I was just making sure she was good enough for you. Like you said, Sam set the date up and I didn't know this girl. I mean, is looking out for you a _crime_?" She replies defensively, crossing her arms.

You roll your eyes. God, she can be so dramatic. " _No_ , and I appreciate it, Quinn, I really do, but I can take care of myself."

Quinn looks away and mutters, "Yeah, I get it."

"You're lucky Britt was so cool about it or I'd be giving you one of my classic bitch slaps right now. It _has_ been awhile," you joke, your tone lightening.

She rolls her eyes at that, but then her eyebrow raises. " _Britt_ , huh?" She teases.

A smile spreads across your face at the mention of her and you lean forward. "She's _amazing_ , Q," you tell her in a hush, "Fireworks and everything."

Quinn pulls her mouth taut in a stern frown. "Did you sleep with her?"

You shake your head vigorously. "I mean, I wanted to, and really, I would've if it was anyone else, but she really is different, Q."

Quinn's face is inscrutable as she taps a finger against her chin in thought. "Huh. What did you guys do?"

You give her the abbreviated version and she stares at you incredulously. "Bowling? _You_ went bowling?"

"Yes, god, is it that hard to believe? I can have fun, you know."

She snorts. "I'll believe it when I see it. And she told you about her," she waves her hand around, "dolphin theory?"

Your eyes narrow. "Yes, it's _genius_ and makes total sense."

"Huh." Quinn waits a beat and says conversationally, "She's a dancer."

But you know her better. Quinn's your best friend and everything, but she's a bit of a snob. Her family's a long line of Hollywood socialites and well-to-dos, so she rubs elbows with lots of big wigs and stars. Her connections are great for business and it's helped her rise as a PR star, but when it comes to your love life, it's been abysmal.

You shoot her a look. "Don't, Q."

She shrugs, keeping her face impassive. "I didn't say anything. I just mentioned she was a dancer."

"So?" You arch an eyebrow at her.

Quinn stares you dead in the eye. "You don't think you're lowering your standards or anything?"

You flinch at her bluntness but give her a withering glare that makes the expression on Quinn's face falter. You all but snarl, "Yeah, well, maybe those standards are complete _bullshit_. Maybe they're the reason why no one else has worked out. Maybe what someone puts on their resume shouldn't be the defining standard of who I date. Maybe, just _maybe,_ it should be if she makes me _laugh_ or if she treats me _well_ or, god forbid, if she makes me _happy._ "

Quinn takes your bitch-out in stride. "Okay," she says measuredly, "I deserved that. I get it, I can be a bit of an elitist bitch and," she blows out a breath, "I'm _sorry_. I'm just worried that you'll find that one little thing that's going to be a deal-breaker, _like you always do_ , and this blows up in your face."

"It won't," you say through your teeth. You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath. You exhale and the fight leaves you and you look at Quinn earnestly. "Look, Q, I just need you to ease up. I like her. It's not like she's meeting the parents or anything. But I _am_ wanting to see where it goes. So can you _please_ play nice?"

Quinn nods, conceding. "I'll play nice. It's not like I _don't_ like her for you, S. I mean, she might be a little… quirky, but I really do think she'd be great for you _because_ she's so different. Like I said, I'm just worried."

"And I hear you, okay? Can we _please_ just move on from all this sentimental shit? Seriously, you're always interrupting my work with this crap and it's becoming a habit." You say wryly with a smirk.

Quinn rolls her eyes. " _And_ she's back."

You give her a cheeky grin. "It's what I do."

Your phone buzzes on your desk and your eyes shoot to it instantly.

_I can't stop thinking about you. – Britt_

"Is that her?" Quinn peers over your desk and you quickly snatch your phone up.

"Maybe," you reply, tapping away at the screen. _Me neither._

Your face is doing that thing it's been doing since Friday, where your cheeks are dimpling and starting to ache from how wide you're grinning. You woke up on Saturday morning to Brittany's number flashing on your screen and she casually greeted you a _good morning_ over the phone, bright and upbeat like it was completely normal to call the following morning, even though you two saw each other just hours earlier.

And to your surprise, it wasn't awkward and you weren't worried about playing it hard to get like you usually do with dates because it all feels so easy with her. You fell into step with her easily, clicking together, and the morning phone call turned to staying on the phone like teenagers for the whole day as you tackled some work at home. You're even feeling a little groggy this Monday morning, because you talked late into the night on Sunday too, talking about nothing and everything and giggling into your phone.

"When are you seeing her again? And when can she join us for drinks with Sam?"

You hold up your free hand, your other clicking your phone locked. "Hold your horses, Fabray. You guys already scared her badly enough one time. And I don't know, to be honest. This Super Bowl campaign is sucking up all of my time for the next _month_." You whine a little bit.

Quinn actually looks sympathetic. "Yeah, this campaign is pretty killer. Maybe, you can—"

"Santana?" One of your associates knocks on your open office door and pops her head in. "Sorry to interrupt."

You shoot Quinn an apologetic smile. "What's going on?"

"There's someone here for you," the associate states, before stepping to the side and around back to her desk, and you lurch to your feet.

"Brittany!"

Brittany's standing there, arms behind her back, and a sheepish grin on her face. Her long blonde hair is ramrod straight and tied high on top of her head in a tight ponytail, tucked underneath a blue baseball cap with the letters _LA_ stitched onto it. She's dressed much more casually than when you saw her last and in what you assume to be her dancing clothes, a striped long-sleeve that's cropped just a _little_ too short, showing you a sliver of her toned abdomen, and slim black sweats that cling to her legs and are slung just a _little_ bit too low so that you can see a shadow of her hipbones. She's a _vision_ , and all the moisture leaves your mouth instantly.

"Hi," you say stupidly. "You're here."

Brittany worries her lip between her teeth. "Is that okay?"

"More than okay," you reply, still taken aback that she's _here_ , in your office.

"Brittany," Quinn speaks up and you had all but forgotten she was still here, "it's so good to see you again. Santana was just telling me how she had such a great time with you on Friday."

Brittany eyes her warily. "Are you gonna start asking me weird questions again?"

Quinn lets out a genuine laugh. "No, I promise. Sorry about that, by the way. Best friend duties and all." She rolls her eyes in your direction.

Brittany gives her an easy grin, blue eyes sparkling. "Totally. She's a handful so I get it."

"Hey!" You splutter out in objection and the two blondes just laugh in response. Your stomach twists again at the sound of Brittany's giggle and you step closer to her.

"What are you doing here? I mean, not that I'm not happy to see you, because I am, I'm just surprised, and I mean—"

"Whoa, easy, tiger," Brittany cuts you off with a chuckle. Heat creeps up your neck as you flush. "I know this might be totally _lame_ and against, like, dating rules or whatever," Brittany's eyes dart from you to Quinn and back to you, "but I just wanted to see you again and, well, I brought you these."

She brings her arms out from behind her and you suck in a breath.

Flowers.

She brought you flowers.

"Oh my _god_ , Brittany, these are gorgeous," Quinn gushes. "Are they lilies?"

Brittany nods but her eyes are still on you as she replies, "Yeah, they are."

You're standing there a little gobsmacked because Brittany's _here_ and she looks like _that_ and she _can't stop thinking about you_ and her mouth looks extra kissable in the daytime and she brought you _flowers_ at your work. Your heart feels like it's about to burst out of your chest and die at her feet.

"S," Quinn hisses, "aren't you going to say something?"

You don't even look at Quinn, keeping your eyes on Brittany, as you say dazedly, "Get out, Q."

Quinn makes an affronted noise and Brittany just giggles but her eyes twinkle at you.

"Well, you don't have to be _rude._ Good luck with this one, Brittany," Quinn says in goodbye, patting Brittany on the shoulder but neither of you really notice her leaving.

You take another step closer to her. "Hi," you whisper again.

The corners of her mouth turn up. "Hi," she whispers back.

Your hands come up to cover hers as you wrap your fingers around the bouquet of lilies. You finally pull your eyes away from those blue eyes that have been haunting you since Friday and look down. "These are gorgeous, Britt. Thank you," you say softly, a little awed.

Her finger stretches out and tilts your chin back up. The look she's giving you is warm and adoring and your breath catches and you feel like you're just always going to be in a state of breathlessness around her.

"You're welcome," she says simply before leaning in and placing a kiss on your lips for a second that lights your nerve endings on fire before she's pulling away. "Now, can I take you to lunch?"

/

You could get used to this.

The thought crosses your mind easily, almost frighteningly so, as Brittany swipes a French fry from your plate and pops it into her mouth with a quirked eyebrow.

If you dwelled on it a little bit, you'd probably be freaking out at how quickly you're getting used to her, to _Brittany_ , to those blue eyes peeking out underneath the brim of her cap, your eyes crinkling in laughter as she tells you about the class she taught this morning, her ankle brushing yours underneath the table.

But you really don't mind.

The sun's shining bright and it's a gorgeous January day in Los Angeles.

/

The rest of January passes in a blur because the Super Bowl campaign is taking up all of your time and your weeknights and weekends are spent hunched over your laptop or on the phone with your clients. To make matters worse, a Senior Director position opened up at work and your boss has already hinted that she's eyeing you for it, so you really have to get this campaign right.

You've never been more miserable to be working, which is a first, but you haven't been able to take Brittany out on an official second date.

Instead, you have these little micro-dates, which almost makes up for it, because she visits you for lunch once a week and you guys talk on the phone on the nights you can spare.

You can always tell when she's here to see you for lunch because you hear her before you see her. Well, more specifically, you hear everyone else you work with.

"Brittany, you are a _godsend!_ " One of your associates muffles around a mouthful of a donut and you look up.

Brittany's walking out of your break room with ease, and you grin at how comfortable she is walking around your office. She catches your eyes as she walks towards your office and she beams brighter with every step. "Hey you!" She leans against the doorframe, jerking a thumb back in the direction of the break room. "I brought donuts for you guys."

You shake your head a little. "Britt, you're going to make us all fat at this rate."

Brittany just smiles at you innocently. "You guys work hard, you deserve it."

Your boss is walking by, hands full with two donuts, and she stops outside your office and looks right at you. "Santana, consider yourself fired if you ever get rid of this one. Seriously, she's a keeper." Your eyes widen as Brittany and your boss share a laugh and joke easily like they've known each other for ages.

You've been micro-dating for a few weeks and she still takes your breath away.

When Brittany looks back to you, you're sure you have the goofiest looking expression on your face because she bites down a grin and shakes her head like she doesn't know what to do with you.

"Come on, gorgeous. Let's get some food in you before you collapse from overworking syndrome. Seriously, San, I diagnosed you and everything, and I'm afraid it could be terminal."

You laugh and take her hand and let her lead the way.

/

**February**

You feel like you can breathe once the stupid Super Bowl is over.

You've been pretty much sleeping at the office with how hard you and your team have been working on pulling off a multimillion dollar ad spot for one of the agency's largest brands. Brittany's been completely patient through the craziness too, even bringing you guys coffee during your late-night strategy sessions. You still have yet to go on your second official date, but the highlight of your week is still seeing Brittany at lunch, even if sometimes that lunch micro-date is only fifteen minutes as you scarf down the In-N-Out Brittany brings you.

What makes all the hard work worth it, though, isn't when you have a watch party at the office during the game and everyone erupts into applause as soon the ad spot finishes.

It isn't even when your boss claps a hand on your shoulder and tells you that this is a huge step towards Senior Director and Quinn slaps you on the back for a great job done.

What makes all the hard work worth it is something so simple and small but it's _everything._

The following morning after the Super Bowl, you finally get to sleep in and let your phone charge after you've been dead to the world for the past 36 hours. When you wake up blearily from your post-Super Bowl crash, your phone is fully charged and you have a few texts from Brittany waiting.

_Link: The Top 5 Super Bowl Ads for 2017 - Britt_

_Look, you guys made number one! It was so awesome! - Britt_

And then—

_So proud of you, babe. – Britt_

Your eyes zero in on the endearment and your heart feels like it doubles in your chest. See, you know Brittany's affectionate and definitely not shy about it. She calls you _gorgeous_ and _tiger_ and she calls Quinn _hun_ and _sweetie_ when she sees her.

But this feels different.

It makes you feel like things are getting serious between you two, because this is something that's private and solely reserved for _you_. It makes you feel like you're something special, that _you_ are special to Brittany, the girl who never fails to make you laugh, who meets you for lunch without fail, who brings you donuts and coffee, who you can't get enough of.

You feel warm all over and you can't wait any longer and press the Call button on your phone.

" _Hey, gorgeous! You're alive! How was—"_

"Go on a date with me," you blurt out.

Brittany giggles on the other line and doesn't miss a beat. _"And what do you call our lunches for the past few weeks?"_

"Those don't count. I want to take you on an official second date. And if I recall correctly, it's my turn to pick the time and place."

Her laugh is throaty and genuine. _"Oh, gosh. What am I going to do with you, Santana Lopez?"_

You grin at the unique way she inflects your name. "Hopefully, say yes."

" _Yes. Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes."_

"Tonight?"

" _It's a date. Officially. See you then."_

/

You were planning to take Brittany to a fancy restaurant and get all dressed up, but you scrapped it at the last minute because you thought she'd like this better instead.

When you pull up to your destination, the way her eyes are shining as she stares at you, her mouth dropped open, makes you think you made the right decision.

"How did you know?" Brittany squeals, grabbing your face in her hands and placing kisses all over your cheeks.

You grin at the affection, nuzzling your cheek against her palm. "You might've mentioned that you've never been to the pier to Quinn the other day and I _may_ have been eavesdropping."

Brittany narrows her eyes at you playfully, still cradling your face in between her hands. "I told you about my spy fantasy in confidence, Santana, you can't be using it against me like this."

It takes a second, but when it clicks, you burst out laughing, the sound coming out garbled from the way Brittany's holding your face. Brittany's eyes are bright blue and playful and she leans in and kisses you squarely on your puckered lips before releasing you.

"Come on! I want to ride the Ferris Wheel!"

/

You greased the palm of the Ferris Wheel attendant with a crisp twenty-dollar bill before you and Brittany boarded your cart and it was completely worth it when you hear her gasp beside you when you two get to the top.

"It's beautiful," she says in awe, looking at the vast ocean in front of her, the lights from the pier casting neon colors onto the rippling waves, the moon off in the distance. But you're looking at her and the giddy grin on her face and the ocean wind lifting the ends of silky blonde hair.

"Yeah," you breathe.

She feels your eyes on her and she turns to face you and gives you that dazzling smile that never fails to take your breath away.

And soon, her lips are on yours as she says, "Thank you, babe," against your mouth and you sigh happily and melt into her kiss.

/

**March**

You're lounging around on the beach on a particularly hot March day, large sunglasses adorning your face as you stretch your legs out and lean back on your palms behind you.

You're watching Brittany, of course.

Brittany's torturing you in a bikini top and low-cut jean shorts that are almost sinful as she spikes a volleyball over the net, her form perfect and toned abs on full display. She's gotten more than a couple double-takes in the past hour alone and you've almost taken five people's heads off. You're positive she's trying to kill you on purpose because you mentioned you wanted to _take things slow_.

You're a goddamn idiot.

Long, muscled legs are soon blocking your view and you blink, shielding your eyes against the sun as you look up.

Brittany's standing over you, a smirk on her face and an eyebrow raised like she knows you've been drooling over her for the past half-hour. "Enjoying the view?"

"You're evil," you deadpan.

She just laughs and plops down next to you with a pant, grabbing a nearby towel to dab the sweat that's collected all over her torso. You have to curl your fingers into the sand to prevent yourself from ripping the towel from her hands and replacing it with your mouth.

Have you mentioned that you're a goddamn idiot?

"San, look." You shake yourself free out of your Brittany-induced daze and follow her gaze. A flock of seagulls are nearby and the sight makes you groan. You're still not fully recovered from the panic attack you nearly had the last time Brittany took you to the beach and started throwing pieces of food out onto the sand and, next thing you knew, you were surrounded by those little fuckers. Brittany thought it was _hilarious_. You almost shit yourself.

"Britt, hells _no_. I _will_ leave you on the beach."

Brittany grins at you devilishly. "But how will you _ever_ get over your orithnophobia, San?"

You knock your shoulder into hers with a good-natured eye-roll. "Ha, ha, laugh it up. Try me, Britt, just _try me._ "

She just giggles and cocks her head. "You know," she says, "that's one of things I like about you, babe. Your deathly fear of birds."

You throw your head back, shaking your head as you try to prevent your smile from spreading.

"Seriously! I have a whole list and that's probably at the top of it. Or near it. Next to the way you're so grumpy when you haven't gotten the chance to eat."

"I am _not_ grumpy," you narrow your eyes at her, but your cheeks are flushing from the way Brittany just laughs loudly in response. But then, after a few seconds, her grin turns into something softer and she breathes out a chuckle.

"You're, like, _probably_ my favorite person in the world, you know." She looks nervous and the sight is strange to you. She's always been the confident one between you two, sending you reeling from the first moment you two met, but now, she's looking down at her toes in the sand and fidgeting with her hands. A surge of warmth spreads through your chest.

"Hey," you say softly to catch her attention and, when you find those blue eyes, you give her a reassuring smile. "You're my favorite person too, Britt-Britt." She beams back at you and you lean in and kiss her slowly, nipping at her bottom lip, before pulling away. "Speaking of which, would my favorite person in the world feel like coming with me to San Diego for the weekend?"

Brittany perks up. "I love SD! What's the occasion?"

"Quinn, Sam, and I are going to visit a few of our old college friends down there and make a weekend out of it. We usually try to do it every few months and it's a whole commotion and everything," you roll your eyes. "I'm usually bored third-wheeling it with Quinn and Sam so I'd love it if you'd come to my rescue."

Brittany giggles. "This weekend?"

"No, it's at the end of the month."

Brittany's face falls for a second and your stomach lurches. "Is it too soon to go away for the weekend? You don't have to, I mean, I really am fine with taking things slow, I know it was my idea and everything, but I didn't mean to—"

"No, no," she's quick to reassure you, smoothing her palm over your thigh. "It's not that." Brittany gnaws on her bottom lip before sighing heavily. "I just have to tell you something."

Oh god. This is it. You knew this was too good to be true. Quinn pretty much said as much the other day after Brittany had visited you at work and treated both you and Quinn out to lunch. Your heart feels like it's in the pit of your stomach as you recall Quinn saying to you months ago that there's probably a deal-breaker that's going to blow up in your face and _god_ , what if she was right—

"I can't go at the end of the month because I'm going to Arizona for a week."

You blink. "That's it? God, Britt, you _scared_ me! You could've just said you had other plans."

Brittany squeezes your thigh and laughs nervously. "It's not that. It's, um, well, I'm going to Arizona for Spring Training. I go every year with a couple friends."

Your eyebrows knit together. "What's Spring Training?"

Brittany looks hesitant to answer you. "It's for the Dodgers."

"The baseball team?"

"Yeah, look, San, I'll just come right out and say it." Brittany rubs the back of her neck before taking a deep breath. "I'm a huge Dodgers fan."

You nod, giving her a smile, albeit a confused one. "I know. I mean, you told me so on our first date, and I've been to your place. It's, like, decked out in Dodgers everything, I mean, it's pretty hard to miss," you tease, trying to get her to relax.

Brittany turns fully toward you, pulling your hands into her lap. "No, I mean, I'm a _huge_ Dodgers fan. I have season tickets and everything. I haven't missed a single game in, like, seventeen years. It's a _huge_ passion of mine."

She's looking at you so earnestly, her blue eyes almost pleading with you to hear her, that your easy smile slowly fades into a serious expression and you straighten up a little, giving her a nod to continue.

She looks relieved and rubs her thumbs over the inside of your wrists. "See, when I was eight, my whole family moved to California and I had a really tough time adjusting. It didn't help that, yknow, my brain doesn't work the same way as everyone else's so I got bullied a lot."

You make a soft sympathetic noise, tangling your fingers together. Brittany presses on.

"One day, my dad takes me to Dodger Stadium and sits me down with a pencil and a paper and he teaches me math that way, three outs at a time. And it _worked_. The bullies stopped and the teachers actually took their time to explain things to me and, well, eventually, I got so good at math by going with my dad that I got into M.I.T."

You give her a soft smile as you imagine a young, eight-year-old Brittany, blonde hair in pigtails, a large blue cap donned on her head and cheering in the stands.

"When my dad died," you suck in a sharp breath at her admittance, "he left me season tickets to the Dodgers. And, well, I've been going ever since." She gives you a watery smile before clearing her throat. "See, math makes total sense to me. It's the same in every language. And baseball…"

She shakes her head and she breathes out, almost in awe, "Baseball is one of the only things that makes sense to me, too. There's no other sport like it. Everywhere else, you can run out the clock until the game ends, but you can't do that in baseball. You have to play until the very last out, so there's _always_ a chance you can still win it. I love the sounds, the smell, the _crowd_. It's just… it's really important to me and other people haven't always been so cool with it so…" She trails off and gives you an embarrassed laugh, her eyes downcast and her shoulders caving in.

"Britt," you try softly, an adoring smile on your face. "I _like_ you. A lot. I like that you're so passionate about this. If anything, this just makes you even _more_ adorable to me when you sound like a complete genius with the way you talk about it. I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

Brittany stares at you for a second and you try to convey how much your heart races when she's near, how the sound of her laugh is your most favorite sound in the world, how her touch sends tingles throughout your spine, all through your eyes, and a smile slowly starts to spread on her lips. She nods back at you, eyes brightening up.

"Well then, I have just one question to ask you," Brittany says lightheartedly, a welcome change from the serious few moments you two just shared. You arch your eyebrow at her.

She fumbles into her pocket and brings out a small ring box and your heart about leaps into your throat but then she's giggling at the expression on your face and snaps open the box. A blue ticket stub folds open inside it.

"Will you go to Opening Day with me?"

You just shake your head and grin at her, climbing into her lap and tucking the box into your pocket as you dip your head down to meet her lips. "You're just something else."

/

"Well, tell Britt that she's _seriously_ missing out!" Quinn slurs, pointing a finger at you.

You roll your eyes and push her finger out of your face. "Control your woman, Trouty Mouth. She's drunk."

Sam laughs next to you. "Hey, she's her own person. I'm just a guy she likes to keep around."

Quinn beams at him. "And what a well-trained guy I have."

"I think I'm going to gag," you deadpan. You glance down at your phone and read back at the last text Brittany sent you a few hours ago. _Just landed in Arizona, babe!_

"Where is she again?" Sam asks, sipping on his beer.

"Arizona," you reply absently as you text back. _Hope you're having fun, Britt. Wish you were here. I'm this close to vomming over Q and Fish Lips._

"What's she doing there?" Quinn says but before you can answer, Sam is standing up and hollering across the bar.

"Mikey!"

You look up and Mike's coming your way, waving in hello. "Hey, guys! Fancy seeing you here! Mind if I sit?"

"Please!" Sam replies and Mike scoots into the booth next to you.

"Mike, so good to see you, man! What are you doing here in SD?" Sam punches his fist against Mike's arm and you and Quinn shoot each other a look. _Boys._

Mike laughs, running a hand through his jet-black hair. "I'm in town for Tina's show this weekend. Though, I'm missing a _killer_ week in Arizona, to tell you the truth."

"Oh, you were supposed to go with Brittany?" Quinn asks.

Mike nods. "Yeah, I'm super bummed I'm missing Spring Training."

Sam perks up. "Spring Training? Wait, Brittany's watching the _Dodgers_ right now? Holy crap, Santana, why didn't you tell me your girlfriend was awesome?"

You roll your eyes. "She's not my girlfriend. Yet."

Mike turns to you. "I gotta say, Santana, it's _really_ awesome that you're so cool about all of this. I took years to even tell Tina about it all."

Quinn's raising her eyebrows at you, giving you a look, and you can tell she's already scrutinizing you over this. She's like a shark with blood when it comes to these things.

You laugh and wave him off, hoping to change the topic, but Quinn hones in on Mike. "What do you mean?" She demands.

Mike glances at her then back to you. He looks like he's regretting saying anything in the first place, but once Quinn wants to know something, she won't give up. She leans forward, staring Mike down. "Well?"

"Well," he says cautiously, "It's a lot to take in at first. I mean, all of her exes have basically screwed her over before about the whole Dodgers thing."

"Wait, _what_ about the whole Dodgers thing?"

Mike hesitates a little but then, Quinn's clutching your arm. "Is that _Brittany?_ "

The TV in the bar's set to ESPN and your mouth drops open as you see her on screen. Half of her face is painted in blue, her blonde hair wild under a blue L.A. cap, as she screams into the reporter's mic, _"I'm Brittany S. Pierce and I_ bleed _Dodger blue!"_

After a few tense seconds, Mike replies weakly, " _That_ Dodgers thing."


	2. Opening Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Now, Brittany, how much do you love the Dodgers?”_
> 
> On screen, Brittany grabs the reporter’s mic and stares dead into the camera. _“To me, the three most important things in life, in order, are the Dodgers, sex, and breathing!”_ She punctuates her sentence with a large whoop and pumps her fist in the air. The crowd behind her, dressed in blue jerseys and blue face paint, roars their agreement in cheers. 
> 
> “S, don’t freak out.”
> 
> You blink rapidly. “I’m not freaking out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, the game depicted in this chapter follows the actual game that happened in real life last season against the Padres. I tried to minimize the amount of baseball talk in this one, but if there's a bunch of terminology in here that's confusing for any non-baseball fans, let me know and I'll try to explain it better. You can also catch me on Tumblr at kurzelx if you have any questions. Slightly shorter than the last one, but I wanted to get this out. Sexy times ahead and my wife reads this so, wife, I love you and I'm sorry. Also first time writing smut in years so hopefully, it went alright. Onto the chapter!

" _Now, Brittany, how much do you love the Dodgers?"_

On screen, Brittany grabs the reporter's mic and stares dead into the camera. _"To me, the three most important things in life, in order, are the Dodgers, sex, and breathing!"_ She punctuates her sentence with a large whoop and pumps her fist in the air. The crowd behind her, dressed in blue jerseys and blue face paint, roars their agreement in cheers.

"S, don't freak out."

You blink rapidly. "I'm not freaking out."

Sam is guffawing, halfway standing and gesturing wildly at the TV, where Brittany is screaming madly and chest-bumping other Dodger fans as the ESPN reporter laughs and states into the mic, _"Well, there you have it, folks. As you can see, Dodgers Nation, the team's most dedicated fans, is_ fired up _for Spring Training here at Camelback Ranch. Back to you, John."_

"Oh my _god_! This is amazing!" Sam whips his head towards Mike, whose face is scrunched up in an exaggerated wince. "You do this with Brittany every year?!"

Mike scratches behind his ear, hiding a cringe as the TV pans over the whooping crowd one last time before cutting away. "Yeah, we're, um, _huge_ Dodger fans." His eyes slide over to you nervously. "I thought Brittany told you?"

You grin widely—a little _too_ widely, by the way Mike inches away from you. "She did!" Quinn gives you a dubious look from across the table. "Well, she mentioned she was a big fan. I just, um, didn't know she was _this_ into it."

Mike looks remorseful. "Santana, I'm so sorry, I really thought she told you—"

"It's fine! Totally fine!" You say, grin still plastered on your face.

Sam is still laughing, slamming his fist on the table. "Oh man, that is _hilarious!_ Mikey, you gotta let me come with you guys to a game. That looks _insane_!"

Mike's cheeks are turning red and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Sure, man. But uh, I have to get back to Tina, so…" He shifts out of the booth and he hesitates before saying lowly to you, "Look, I know it's a lot to take in, but for what it's worth, Brittany _really_ likes you. I haven't seen her this happy in ages, so give her a chance, alright?"

You're still processing what you just saw and Mike could probably tell because he just gives you a sympathetic squeeze on the shoulder before walking away.

Sam's laughing has died off into chuckles as he shakes his head. "Man, your girl is a _hoot_ , Santana. Total brownie points. I didn't know she was that into the Dodgers."

"Santana..." Quinn starts warningly before you shake your head at both of them.

"It's fine. _Totally_ fine." You repeat brightly.

Sam's grin falters. "Oh no. She's freaking out, huh?"

Quinn nods. "Yep."

"I'm not freaking out," you say a little too loudly. "Brittany told me she liked the Dodgers and has season tickets and everything. I just wasn't expecting to see her on TV! That's all."

"Right," Quinn draws the word out.

"Santana," Sam almost whines, "You can't break up with this one. She has _season tickets_ to the _Dodgers._ "

Quinn shoots him a glare and slaps him upside the head. "Have some tact, you idiot. That is _so_ not the issue here." She takes a deep breath and leans forward and you brace yourself for the _I told you so_.

"It's not that bad."

You blink. " _Excuse me?_ You're _not_ gonna say 'I told you so'?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. " _No_ , because, even though I'm probably the most judgmental bitch at this table, I have _eyes_ and anyone within a ten-mile radius can see how much Brittany likes you and how happy she makes you."

You splutter, "But she's—the face paint—and the screaming—"

Quinn makes a tutting noise, holding a hand up to cut you off. "Yeah, it's _a lot_ , but Jesus, S, you dumped girls over their taste in shoes _._ So what if Brittany's just really into baseball? Weren't _you_ the one that said that she's _different_?"

"Yeah, I think it's super cool _._ It could be worse. At least, she's not obsessed with, like, feet or something," Sam chimes.

"Helpful. Real helpful," you retort.

Sam shrugs. "Quinn's right, though. You drop girls like that," he snaps, "over the littlest things. Like you're scared to let yourself be happy."

You open your mouth to object but Sam ignores you and continues, "And yeah, maybe those other girls weren't right for you or whatever, but you've been smiling at your phone all night so it seems like this one is. You should let yourself be happy and this girl makes you happy and that's all there is to it."

He sits back and picks up his beer, drawing a big gulp. Quinn's staring at him with soft eyes and a wide smile on her face. "Couldn't have said it better myself, hon," she sighs before leaning over and kissing him on the cheek.

Shit. If Quinn Fabray is passing up an opportunity to say that she was right and fucking _Trouty Mouth_ is giving you relationship advice, then you really need to get your shit together.

And deep down, you know they're both right. It's just hard to unlearn the years-long habit of nitpicking the possibility of a relationship to death. And Sam may have been a little too on the nose because, yeah, it might've been your defense mechanism all along, to put walls up and to pick apart and to never let things get past the first date. Sure, none of the other girls made you even want to try or were even worth it, but, now, you can admit that, well…

You _are_ scared to let someone in. To let _Brittany_ in.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket.

 _Photo Attachment (1)_ _– Britt_

When you click on the message thread to see what it is, a grin spreads unwittingly across your face. It's a picture of a white baseball jersey, the Dodgers logo in swooping cursive patterned on the front. Adorned on the back, in big bold letters, is _PIERCE_.

Another text shoots in. _I got this for me… but maybe you could wear it instead on Opening Day? Too much?_

Something about the thought of wearing a jersey with Brittany's last name on it makes a lump form in your throat _._ Your stomach feels like a thousand butterflies are flapping their wings against your insides, sending a thrum of tingles along your skin.

You think about the past three months, about how Brittany's always rushing on the phone to get to her classes when you chat or hurrying to grab a bite to eat between choreography sessions but she's always on the dot, right at your office door, a bright smile on her face, when she sees you for lunch. You think about the way Brittany stayed on the phone with you until four in the morning and sang Ke$ha songs to you to keep you awake so you could finish a strategy brief for the Super Bowl campaign. You think about that day on the beach, sun shining almost ethereally on golden hair and lightly tanned skin, about blue eyes peering at you shyly as she said that _you're her favorite person._

You think about that conversation you had with Quinn that feels like ages ago when you said wholeheartedly that Brittany was _different_ from all the other girls that came before, just days after you first met her. And you _meant_ it with every fiber of your being. She's kind, she's genuine, she makes you laugh, she gets you in a way that sometimes even surprises _you_ , and, really, all of this isn't a revelation. You've known this for a while now. You've known this since your first date with Brittany because your connection with her, that _spark_ , was instant. From that moment, you knew.

You knew she was worth letting in.

So why let a little _baseball_ get in the way of that?

"There you go," Quinn remarks with a smug smirk, snapping you out of your deep thought. "Finally caught up with the rest of us here?"

"Shut up," you say with an eye roll as you text back a reply to Brittany.

_Never too much. It's perfect._

"Well, thank _god_ for that _,_ " Sam exclaims, slinging an arm around your shoulder,"Because I wasn't kidding about those tickets. Can she hook a brother up?"

This time, you're the one to slap him upside the head.

/

There's a reason why you're the youngest Director in the agency.

You finish your pitch deck with a subtle flourish and survey the faces around the conference room table. The clients, three execs from the second largest movie studio in Hollywood, are sitting at the head of the table leaning back in their chairs, trying to keep their faces neutral.

But you can always tell when you nail a pitch for a campaign and you know damn well you did that just now.

You're _good_ at this shit. You live for it.

When it's Pitch Day, you almost strut into the office, heels clicking confidently on the floor, and you command the room with a purpose. When you're presenting, you can get lost in painting your vision for the campaign, but you always pick up on the way jaws slacken as you unravel the pitch, the way the clients shift forward in their seats on bated breath to see what's next, and the soft, impressed murmurs that fill the room when you unveil the Big Idea.

Quinn arches an eyebrow at you from her place at the table and you subtly give her a smirk.

The three execs huddle closely for a few seconds, whispering among themselves, but you know what's coming next.

"We look forward to working with you and your team, Miss Lopez."

Internally, you're screaming with joy, but you manage to keep a cool demeanor as you shake hands with the execs, echoing the same sentiments, and your boss does the same before walking them out.

As soon as the conference room door swishes closed and the execs round the corner, the table erupts in belated cheers and you let out a relieved laugh.

"You guys, we just nailed the second largest contract in agency history! Give it up for all of you guys!" You thunder your hands together in applause and your team follows suit, satisfied smiles on everyone's faces.

You grin. "Great work, everyone. Let's get it done."

With that, you dismiss everyone, and a flurry of activity swarms the room as everyone packs up their things and clears out. You take the time to thank each member of your team for the work they've done as they walk out.

Quinn's walking up to you now, a large grin on her face. She punches your arm. "You killed it up there, S."

You laugh and flick your hair over your shoulder in an exaggerated fashion. "I know."

Quinn rolls her eyes at you but the grin on her face stays put. "Seriously, S, great job. I'm excited for this."

"Me too. This is going to make me a total shoo-in for the Senior Director position."

You and Quinn waltz out of the conference room, striding back to your office when you faintly hear familiar voices. As you turn the corner, you see Brittany and your boss chatting amicably in your office.

Even though you know that what you have with Brittany is worth taking a risk on and letting in, you're still a little nervous to see her after what you saw this weekend. You can't help but feel like you see her a little differently, not in a bad way, but just differently and you're not quite sure how to react around her.

Quinn seems to notice your pace slow just the slightest amount and she glances at you from the corner of her eye. "Remember what I said, okay?" She catches Brittany's eye and gives her a wave from afar before turning to go to her office.

You take a deep breath and walk up to Brittany and your boss.

"…seats are on field level, right behind the dugout."

Your boss's eyebrows shoot up. "Really? Santana, did you know this?"

You find those blue eyes instantly and your breath catches, having gone days without seeing them. God, you didn't know just how much you missed her until just now. You don't know why you were even feeling nervous upon seeing her, because at the sight of those gorgeous blues and tousled blonde waves, you feel any remaining tension leave you in a breath. You feel like your world is righting itself with a click inside your chest at the sight of those cat-like eyes. Brittany's beaming at you, eyes crinkling at the corners from how wide her grin is, and she's bouncing a little bit on her heels like she's itching to get to you.

"Santana?" Your boss prompts again.

"Hm, sorry, what?" You reply absently.

Your boss chuckles. "Alright, I'll leave you two love birds to it. Santana, take the rest of the day off." You finally break away from staring at Brittany to gape at your boss in surprise.

Your boss just raises her eyebrows, daring you to defy her. "You did amazing today. Go home. Treat this one out to lunch or something _for once._ "

Brittany laughs good-naturedly, exchanging friendly goodbyes with your boss as she walks away. Brittany turns back to you, stepping close and brushing her fingers along the hem of your blouse. "Hey, stranger," she hums.

"Hi," you reply softly, catching her fingers with yours and tangling them together.

"Missed me?" Brittany cocks her head playfully, a smile teasing her lips.

"Always," you answer instantly and the serious way you do so makes Brittany giggle in response.

"Well, come on, then." She tugs lightly at your joined hands, pulling you towards the exit. "You heard your boss lady. You're free for the day and I'm taking _you_ out to lunch to celebrate the amazing job I heard you did today."

Your cheeks color as you follow her easily out through the office. "It's no big deal."

Brittany shoots you a look over her shoulder. "Don't downplay it. I heard it was a _huge_ deal. Your boss told me all about it."

You laugh, shaking your head a little in disbelief. "I still can't believe you're _so_ chummy with my boss."

Brittany giggles, unlocking her Jeep in the lot with a loud beep as she opens the passenger side door for you. You shoot her a thankful smile as you climb in. "What can I say? I'm totally her type."

You make a sound of protest. " _So_ not funny." She gives you a devilish grin before shutting your door. You narrow your eyes at her through the windshield and you can hear her muffled laugh from outside before she clambers into the driver's side.

"It's true! She has a thing for blondes." She roars the engine to life, slipping on a pair of aviators, and the sight of those shades slipping down her nose makes your stomach twist pleasantly.

You laugh loudly, rolling the back of your head against the headrest to trail your eyes along her profile. "How do you even _know_ that?"

The ends of her mouth quirk up. "Easy. Same way I knew you did."

You scoff, flushing a little. You scratch at your nose. "I do _not._ "

She snorts. "Whatever you say."

"I _don't_."

Brittany slips the aviators down her nose to shoot you a look. You survey her, blue eyes twinkling with mirth, blonde hair trailing down her shoulders, smooth sun-kissed skin and a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her aviators are glinting in the afternoon sun and she's wearing a worn denim jacket today, slightly tattered at the shoulders, and the windows are down, the wind whistling through the Jeep and blowing back wisps of her blonde hair, exposing the slope of her neck and a peek of her collarbones dipping into her shirt. Everything about this look is _doing it_ for you and you feel your stomach tighten in want. You smirk. "Okay, maybe I do."

Brittany giggles, pleased, and the tips of her ears turn red. "Duh."

You both share a laugh before falling into comfortable silence, the sound of the radio playing softly in the background.

"So, I saw you on ESPN this weekend."

The Jeep jerks into the shoulder.

You grip onto the door, bracing yourself. "Britt!"

"Sorry!" She squeaks out, righting the car. Her cheeks are ruddy with a deep blush. She coughs. "You did?"

"Yup."

"With the face paint—"

"Yup."

"—And the screaming—"

"Yup. All of that."

Brittany cringes, running her hand through her hair and gripping the steering wheel tight. "I knew it, it's a deal-breaker, huh? Not _again_.I'm so sorry. I knew it'd be too much. I should've told you that how intense I get, I just didn't want to scare you because I really like you, Santana, and I didn't want to—"

"Britt, _breathe_ ," you cut off her panicky rambling, reaching out and placing your palm over one of her hands on the steering wheel. You stroke over her knuckles until her grip loosens. "It's fine."

"Really?" She says, bewildered.

"Really. I mean, I was a little… surprised, but it's okay. I swear. It's kind of cute, actually." You scrunch your nose up playfully.

Brittany still looks skeptical. " _Really?_ "

You tug her hand over to you, dropping a kiss onto the back of it. "Really really. I told you I'm not going anywhere. And besides, it just made me really excited to go to Opening Day with you to see what it's all about."

The Jeep screeches onto the shoulder again but before you can even exclaim in surprise, Brittany's throwing the car into park and climbing onto your lap. She grabs a fistful of your blouse, yanking you close to her in a way that makes your back arch off the seat. Your stomach bottoms out as heat sears through you.

"God, you're the best," Brittany says huskily before swooping in and kissing you hard.

"Mmph!" You squeak out against her lips before squeezing your eyes shut with the way your eyes about roll back into your head at how hotly she's kissing you, her tongue sliding into your mouth and curling around your teeth. Your hands grip at her thighs as you feel her tug on your collar to bring you even closer, fingers still fisted in your blouse. Her hips roll downwards once, thighs tightening around your waist, and your jaw goes slack at the feeling. She pulls away with a ragged gasp and trails her mouth along your neck, nipping at the column of your throat, and your head thuds back against the headrest.

All too soon, she's leaning back and you almost whimper at the loss of her mouth. You blink your eyes open and she's grinning at you widely.

"Anytime," you breathe out dreamily and she just laughs before climbing off your lap and back into the driver's seat.

You still can't catch your breath minutes later.

/

**Game 1 of 162 - Opening Day**

You shrug on Brittany's white Dodgers jersey, smiling as you catch the sight of _PIERCE_ on the back of the jersey in the mirror.

It's Opening Day today.

Brittany's been buzzing with excitement all week and it's been infectious. You're excited to go see this game that Brittany's devoted majority of her life to and even started looking up some of the rules beforehand so you'd have some sense of what's going on, having never seen a baseball game in your life. You're sure Brittany will explain to you throughout the game as needed, but still, you like to be a little prepared, at least.

You walk out of your apartment and your breath catches like it always does when you see her. You don't know when you'll stop doing that and, frankly, you're not sure you even want to.

Brittany's leaning against her Jeep, legs crossed at the ankle in a pair of ripped jeans, those same black Converse that she wore on your first date on her feet, with a white Dodgers jersey on. A blue Dodgers cap sits atop of her head, blonde hair tucked neatly underneath in a tight ponytail, and aviators shielding your favorite pair of blue eyes. A grin spreads on her face with each step you take towards her.

She's still grinning at you but a little lopsidedly when you finally approach her and you laugh self-consciously. "What?"

Brittany shakes her head, biting down on her bottom lip. "I gotta say… You look totally hot in my jersey. It's doing things to me."

You giggle, slapping her on the shoulder. "Easy there. Save some of that for later."

Brittany's eyebrow arches. "Oh?"

You blush a little at the way her voice drops an octave lower, looking away. "Just get in the car."

Brittany laughs, placing a quick kiss on your lips, before opening the passenger door for you. "Yes, ma'am. To Dodger Stadium, we go!"

/

There's a buzz in the crowd, dozens of people dressed in blue and white jerseys and blue ballcaps, as you stand in line to enter the stadium. The grin on Brittany's face has yet to fade and she keeps bouncing on her toes, almost vibrating with excitement. You look up at the huge walls of the stadium towering above you as you hear the crowd inside cheer faintly.

Soon enough, it's your turn and the ticket attendant scans both of your tickets, giving a nod to Brittany. "Welcome back, Brittany!"

Brittany grins eagerly. "Good to be back!"

You both are waved in and you turn to Brittany, eyebrows raised. "You really weren't kidding about going to every game, huh?"

Brittany winks. "Nope. Now, come on. We've got the best seats in the house." She takes your hand and pulls you down the corridor and you gasp.

Brittany stops in front of you, waving her hands out. "Welcome to Opening Day."

Dodger Stadium is packed to the brim, fans flooding the stands that are three levels high. Two large scoreboards tower high at the edge of the field, lit brightly and playing a highlight reel of Dodgers players, as music blasts throughout the stadium. A large American flag is fluttering in the distance, strung high above the field. The sun is shining bright on this April afternoon, casting a glow on the field of lush green grass. In front of you, just yards away, is the infield, a diamond of smooth undisturbed dirt. You're so close to the infield, you could walk down just a few rows and be able to lean over the barricade wall and touch the field itself. On the field, groundskeepers are painstakingly tending to the infield in preparation for the game, brushing off the dirt on the white bases and sprinkling water across the diamond, packing in the soil.

Brittany laughs at the expression on your face and tugs you down the rows, getting closer and closer to the front of the section. Your eyebrows shoot up higher and higher with every row you pass.

"Jesus, Britt, these seats are _so close_. The field is, like, right there."

"I know. We're gonna be _right_ behind the dugout too, where the team sits during the game. I once had someone offer me a hundred grand for these seats."

Your eyes widen. "You wouldn't sell them?"

Brittany shakes her head, grin on her face. "No way. I could never. You practically have to inherit these seats and the ghost of my dad would probably kill me." She stops in front of a row, just three rows shy from the front, and gestures to the last two seats at the end of the aisle. "This is us."

You take your seat and immediately, you hear loud greetings next to you.

"Brittany, so good to see you again!"

"Another season, huh, Brittany?"

"Welcome back!"

"You think this is going to be the year?"

Brittany's laughing as she shakes hands with everyone down the row, waving to the ones she can't quite reach that are further down. "Hey guys, nice to see you too!"

When Brittany settles in next to you, you laugh. "I didn't know you were such a star."

Brittany blushes, tugging her cap down just a little to shield her eyes. "I'm not. They're just my summer family."

"Your summer family?"

"Yeah, that's what I call them since I only see them when it's baseball season. But they've been going to the games just as long as I have."

You sit back, impressed. "Wow. This is…" You trail off, shaking your head a little as you look around the crowd and the stadium. When you look back to her, she's already watching you, breath held and anxiously chewing on her bottom lip.

"Pretty amazing," you finish, shooting her a genuine smile, and her blue eyes light up as a grin spreads wide on her face.

Brittany leans in close, bringing you into her arms, and you close your eyes as the scent of her perfume, mixed with the smells of fresh-cut grass and damp dirt, wafts in. "Thank you for coming with me," she whispers, her lips brushing the shell of your ear, and you tuck your head tighter into the crook of her neck and smile against her shoulder.

/

The ball whooshes through the air, landing in the catcher's glove with a resounding _thwack_.

"Strike three! You're out!"

The excitement in the air is palpable as the score is tied at 1-1 each. The crowd is roaring with every strike and hit and the stadium is almost thrumming with energy.

You're having fun. You didn't think that baseball would be a thing you could get into. You've caught fleeting moments of baseball games on TV throughout the years, but you always thought it was a little boring, with innings that stretch on with nothing going on. But now, watching a game with Brittany and seeing the game from her eyes, it's been lots of fun so far.

It helps, too, when Brittany's leaning in close, her arm draped across the back of your seat, and murmuring the rules to you in a low, sultry voice that sounds like silk, as the game progresses.

"So each batter has only three strikes before they're done with their at bat," Brittany breathes into your ear and you shiver involuntarily.

"And what's a strike?"

"A strike is when the ball is pitched within the strike zone. The strike zone is about as wide as home plate and sits from here," Brittany brushes her hand across the middle of your chest, where the Dodgers logo sits, before skirting her fingers down to your knees, "to here."

You exhale shakily and nod coolly, settling back in your seat. You can feel the warmth of Brittany's arm behind your shoulders and her fingers trace around the side of your arm. You turn your head to the side slightly to look at her, your cheek almost brushing against Brittany's nose from how close she's leaning over you.

You make eye contact solidly with her, blue eyes a shade of dark navy even with the bright sun shining. "And what's a ball?"

Truthfully, you already know at least these basics, but it doesn't hurt to get a refresher as Brittany hovers closer to you to answer you in a whisper.

/

Now that you're a little bit more familiar with the rules of baseball, you really want to see a home run and you're not the only one. The highlight reels playing before the game started showed a montage of memorable home runs from last season, and the crowd is absolutely itching for one to happen and you've gotten swept up in the anticipation. With every ball that launches into the air, the stadium leaps to their feet, eager for the ball to land beyond the outfield walls.

Another crack of a bat booms through the stadium and the crowd around you gasps as the ball soars through the air.

You stand, tracing the ball in the air with your eyes, breath held, but Brittany chuckles and tugs you gently back down into your seat.

"It's a fly ball," she says.

Your eyes are still glued on the ball hurtling through the air. You turn back to Brittany, eyebrows raised. "How do you know?"

Brittany grins, a twinkle in her eye, and leans forward conspiratorially. "You can always tell if it's gonna be a home run by the outfielder's position." She leans close to you and points with her finger to one of the outfielders.

You squint, following where she's pointing to a waiting outfielder, standing still on the outfield grass. The ball, initially looking like it was going to make its way out into the stands, is arcing back down towards the grass. The ball finally lands resolutely in the outfielder's glove as he's perched perfectly underneath it. The crowd around you groans in disappointment as fans shuffle back into their seats.

Your mouth quirks up. "Huh. Good to know."

Brittany winks in response.

/

The game goes another inning and is still tied and the Dodgers are on their last out for the inning. Even though Brittany's told you it's still early in the game, you're anxious at the tie score as your eyes fleet up towards the scoreboard.

Brittany's getting a little anxious too, her leg jiggling as she taps her foot nervously. She's been playing it cool these first few innings, sitting back and explaining the rules and the various players on the team to you, but now that you have a good understanding of the basics, she's been able to focus more on the play by play of the game and you can see her start to get restless.

The ball whooshes into the catcher's glove and you can see that the ball landed a couple inches outside of home plate, but the referee calls a loud strike and the crowd around you groans. Brittany stands abruptly and cups her hands around her mouth as she calls out, "Hey, ref! Pick up your phone! I think you have a missed call!"

You giggle as Brittany sits back down with a huff. Seeing Brittany annoyed and yelling is a stark contrast of how she usually is with you. She's usually all easy smiles and teasing jokes and the perfect picture of patience and kindness, but she's been scowling at the referee for two batters in a row. The slight pout of her lips is _adorable_ and you lean in close to her, nudging your shoulder against hers. "Wow, trash talking the referee? Who _are_ you?"

Brittany crosses her arms, her bottom lip jutting out even more so. "That guy needs to get his eyes checked."

You just laugh in response, tugging down on the bill of her cap, and she shoots you a grin from underneath it.

Suddenly, a crack of the bat resounds through the stadium and Brittany's seizing your arm as the ball races towards the outfield. You both start to stand as you see the outfielder run towards the ball and make a diving leap, but he's unable to catch it and the ball drops onto the outfield grass and the stadium roars in cheers. You're cheering too, clapping alongside Brittany who's whistling loudly.

" _Finally_ , some action," Brittany exclaims next to you, as the batter skids to a stop at second base. You settle back down into your seats but then, the next batter gets walked intentionally to first base, the pitcher declining to pitch to him, so now, you have two men on first and second base with two outs.

Brittany's leg is jiggling again so you reach out and place your hand on top of her knee to still it. Instead, her leg just jiggles your hand along with it. "Relax, Britt. It's still early, remember?"

Brittany's biting down on her nails on one hand, eyes fixated on the next batter. "Yeah, but we already have two outs and this could be our chance to break the tie."

The crowd around you boos and you look back out to the field. The batter is shaking his helmet off, slightly limping to first base, and the other players shuffle around on the field to accommodate him.

"What happened?"

"He got hit by a pitch, so he automatically gets to go to first base. The bases are loaded now." Brittany stands suddenly and tugs you up with her. "I can't watch, you have to watch for me."

Brittany starts pacing in front of her seat, determinedly looking away from the field and down at her shoes, and you almost laugh at how cute she's being. Instead, you nod seriously and bounce a little bit on your toes, watching the next batter come up to the plate. The player up to bat is the same player who scored the only run for the Dodgers in the game so far and you remember seeing his highlight reel before the game, a montage of large swings and home runs.

"What happens if this guy hits a home run right now?" You muse thoughtfully and Brittany's eyes widen almost comically as she slaps a hand over your mouth. Your eyebrows shoot up.

"It'd be a grand slam so don't jinx it!" Brittany pleads.

You laugh against her hand, the sound coming out muffled, and you say through her fingers, "Alright, alright, I'll be quiet."

Your shoulders start to shake with how hard you're stifling your giggles at Brittany's endlessly cute restlessness but you turn your attention back to the batter. He's doing a good job of keeping an eye on the ball, not swinging at balls that are out of the strike zone. The next pitch comes whizzing through the air and you see the batter swing hard and his bat cracks as it connects with the ball.

The crowd around you gasps and you can see heads turn to watch the arc of the ball through the air but instantly, your eyes zero in on the outfielder's positions and you see them facing the outfield walls with their heads hung low and adrenaline zings through you.

"That's out of here. That's a grand slam, Britt," you almost whisper in disbelief, clutching at Brittany's arm, and, sure enough, the rest of the crowd erupts in cheers a second later as the ball lands into the stands and celebratory music blasts through the stadium.

The fans in front of you are screaming their heads off and you don't even realize you're screaming too because the stadium is absolutely thundering with noise. The fans in front of you extend their hands out for high fives and you slap your hand against theirs, riding high on the excitement.

The scoreboard reads 5-1, Dodgers.

In the midst of all the action, you finally turn to Brittany, an exhilarated grin on your face, but she's not even looking at the scoreboard. She's not even looking at the field where all four players are crossing home plate.

Brittany's looking at you, her eyes full of an unreadable emotion. She's staring at you the same way she looked right after you kissed her, a soft smile on her lips and her eyes shining. Her lips open as she says something but the crowd is still cheering so it drowns out her words.

You're breathing hard from the adrenaline still coursing through you. "What?"

She steps closer, her eyes never leaving yours, even as the cheers around you erupt again in an even louder wave of sound, the crowd not even having time to settle. Faintly in the background, you register another loud, commanding crack of a bat and the same celebratory music blasting through the stadium, but you're captivated by Brittany's sparkling blue eyes.

"Be my girlfriend."

Time seems to slow and you can feel the blood rushing through your ears and the thudding of your heart beating in overtime. The crowd roaring surrounds you both in a wall of sound and you can feel the stadium shake underneath your feet as you step closer to her. The sun is warm on your skin, Brittany's lips are stretched in a smile, those blue eyes gleaming brilliantly at you, and you know you'll remember this moment for years to come.

You laugh breathlessly, surging to press your lips against hers, as you sound out a _yes_ against her mouth and throw your arms around her neck. Brittany's smiling against your lips as her arms come around your middle and she laughs into your kiss, teeth clacking together almost clumsily, as she lifts you into the air and spins you both in a circle and you kiss and kiss until you're dizzy.

/

"What a great game! _God_ , wasn't that such a good game?"

You're back at your place now and you collapse onto the couch. The game had picked up considerably since the inning with the grand slam. The final score ended up being 14-3, Dodgers winning over the Padres, as the offense exploded in a flurry of home runs. Your voice is hoarse from screaming and you're starting to feel the aftermath of hours filled with adrenaline.

You roll your head along the back of the couch to follow Brittany as she walks restlessly around your living room, wide grin on her face and a skip in her step.

"Britt," you laugh, "How are you even standing? I'm _exhausted._ "

Brittany's grin stretches even wider as she tugs the cap off her head and shakes her blonde hair loose of her ponytail. "I'm just so pumped that we won. It's a great day whenever the Dodgers win." She sighs happily and plops down next to you.

You giggle, amused, but you have to admit that it was a great game. "That grand slam was insane. I can't believe it."

Brittany leans back into the couch with another sigh. "See, that's why I love baseball. At any moment, the game can erupt." She laughs and her eyes brighten. "It's just… such a beautiful game, you know? It has all these wacky traditions, like players won't talk to a pitcher if he's in the middle of throwing a no-hitter. But it's also made of hard numbers and statistics and launch angles and probabilities."

Then, Brittany's voice softens and almost shakes with quiet awe. You watch her lips form around her words. "It's a game where a player only has to hit three times out of ten to be considered a success. It's a game where there can be a hundred different examples of why this player who hits right-handed shouldn't go up against this pitcher who pitches left-handed, but, still, that guy could hit it right out of the park. Baseball, it's… it's _home,_ you know? It's _safe._ " She gives a breathy chuckle, blue eyes staring off in the distance in a daze.

A lump forms in your throat.

Maybe it's the echoes of adrenaline still pumping through your veins from the thrill of the plays and pitches today. Maybe it's the beers Brittany bought you two settling in your stomach, buzzing through you. Maybe it's the hours in the bright afternoon sun and the way you can tell your voice is coarse from screaming.

Maybe it's the way Brittany slung her arm around your shoulders during the seventh-inning stretch, singing loudly to _Take Me Out to the Ballgame_ , as your voices joined a stadium full of people in melody. Maybe it's the way Brittany looked among a cheering crowd, eyes focused just on you, as she asked you to be hers.

Or maybe it's the way Brittany just _gets_ about baseball, her voice full of passion and reverence and her blue eyes lit up brightly, her love for the game almost reverberating through her body.

But you're breathless and emotion swells through your chest as you gaze at Brittany's profile and you can't take it anymore.

You kiss her.

You kiss her with everything you have and everything you are and your world shifts and tilts until everything is just _her._ Everything is Brittany's warm lips pressing back against yours, everything is the feel of your hands tangled in blonde locks, everything is the smell of sun and grass and _Brittany_ overwhelming your senses, everything is _Brittany.._

You kiss her passionately, your tongues sliding against each other, and every kiss feels just like the first with electric fireworks exploding behind your eyelids and heat spreading through you. You can't get enough of the way Brittany makes you feel and you press even closer, throwing your leg over hers.

You can feel Brittany gasp against your lips as you deepen the kiss. She responds back just as eagerly, lips bruising together almost painfully. The kiss is hot and fast and heavy, and you can feel Brittany's fingers trail along the hem of your jersey, fingers slipping inside to press hot against the skin of your back, and waves of heat pulse through you. Your hips are starting to roll downwards as you pant against her mouth to take a breath and Brittany's teeth are pulling at your bottom lip and letting go with a soft _plop_ and you moan at the feeling.

"Wait, wait, wait," Brittany breathes out.

You open your eyes, breathing hard, and Brittany's staring at you with half-lidded blue eyes so dark, they've almost turned into a stormy grey. She trails her fingers almost torturously from around your back to the front of your jersey, thumbing along the top button, as she looks up at you.

"Is this okay?" Brittany whispers, sitting up to lean her forehead against yours.

This is about as far as you both have gone in the past few months since you've been taking it slow. Not for lack of trying or for lack of want on both ends as there's been multiple moments just like this one, you on top of Brittany or her on top of you or your legs tangled together and it's always ended in one of you pulling away with a groan as you both try to cool off.

In those moments, or whenever you catch the sight of Brittany walking towards you, long legs striding purposefully, or whenever you see a glimpse of her toned abdomen (you both curse and thank _god_ for Brittany's affinity for crop tops) peeking underneath her shirt, your hormones are practically screaming at you for being an idiot who wanted to take things slow.

But you wanted to hold off on _that_ aspect of things because that's all you've ever done with everyone else, just mindless and meaningless sex with no emotions. And since you've met Brittany, you didn't want her to be just another girl and another orgasm. You wanted to get to know her, to know what makes her laugh, to know about her family, to know what she likes, to be with her emotionally before you could be with her physically.

And when you stare deep into her blue eyes, you can feel the electricity almost palpably between you two. She's smiling softly at you and this moment feels different than all the other moments before. The way she's looking at you, the emotion shining in her blue eyes, the feel of her breath on your face, feels more significant, coupled with the day you two shared.

The air shifts between you and you pull her hands away from your jersey and place them on the tops of your thighs as your shaking hands slowly undo the buttons. Her eyes stay locked on yours even as you expose your skin, goosebumps pebbling along your arms, as the jersey slips off your shoulders.

You lean in to kiss her again, the kiss slowing and softening from the fast and heavy pace from earlier. Her palms press at the small of your back as she draws even closer to you, tilting her head to kiss you more firmly.

Her hands trail to grip under your thighs and suddenly, she's lifting you, your thighs tightening around her waist, and your breath hitches against her lips. The way she's carrying you makes your chest press against hers and she drops her mouth to your neck, placing open-mouth kisses along the expanse of it as she walks you two towards your bedroom. You cradle the back of her head to keep her close, throwing your head back, as she places soft kisses at the base of your throat, tongue flicking out briefly.

Brittany places you softly on top of your bed and you lean up on your elbows, chest heaving. You watch as Brittany's stormy blue eyes trail down the course of your body, you watch as her hands reach down and pull her jersey over her head, you gasp at the sight of smooth, milky skin, the curves of her breasts covered in black lace, and muscled lines cutting through her abdomen.

Brittany bites down on her lip and the sound of her zipper sounds ten times louder in the room and you feel like you can't breathe as she steps out of her jeans, long legs unhidden, and your eyes trace over the long line of muscle in her thighs as they lead up to matching black lace.

"You're beautiful," you whisper.

She answers you by crawling over you, hand trailing through her hair to pull blonde locks over one shoulder, curtaining your face. Her hands rest beside your head as she looks down on you with a smile.

"Hi," she murmurs.

"Hi," you hum back.

And she drops down to kiss you and she presses the length of her body against yours and you moan at the feel of her skin _everywhere_ touching you, her thighs slipping between yours, and you feel heat sear through every nerve.

She kisses you slowly, tongue slipping into your mouth, and you feel like you're about to overheat, so you break away with a shudder, but her mouth just continues, tongue tracing down your throat and along your collarbones. Your hands trail along her back, blunt nails digging into groove of her spine, before you reach up and undo the clasp of her bra.

Brittany leans up to discard the item over her shoulder before leaning back down to press her breasts against your chest and you groan at the feel of her nipples on the bare skin of your stomach as she presses kisses along the swell of your breasts. She reaches around your back to unclasp your bra and you do the same, chucking the item to the far end of the room with such enthusiasm that Brittany chuckles against your skin.

You grin at her as you lock eyes with blue ones but then she's taking your nipple in her mouth and your head snaps back against the pillow and your eyes slam shut. Her tongue is swirling around the peak of your breast, teeth slightly nipping, and you moan loudly at the feel of her sucking on the pebbled peak before doing the same to your other breast. You can feel pressure building at the base of your spine as liquid heat pools between your legs and, embarrassingly, you think you can come from this alone before Brittany's even _really_ touched you.

Your stomach quivers under the touch of her fingers trailing down the lines of your abs and the pressure at the base of your spine builds as Brittany traces her fingers along the hem of your underwear. She hooks her thumbs in your underwear and you open your eyes to watch her as she trails the cloth down your legs and you kick your underwear somewhere further down the bed. Brittany is looking at you with dark, stormy eyes as she places her hands on your knees.

"Let me see you."

You moan at her command and grant it willingly, your knees spreading and you can hear her gasp as she sees the sight of you, all of you, wet and dripping and _ready_ for her.

Brittany trails her fingers torturously along the inside of your thighs, which start to shake under her touch, as she leans back over you.

"Kiss me," you beg, and she acquiesces, pressing her lips hotly against yours just as her fingers finally reach your center and you whimper against her mouth at the sensation of her fingers slipping through hot flesh. The pressure in your spine is almost throbbing and your stomach is drawn tight and you know you're not going to last long.

Her fingers slip through you, up and down, before settling on your nub of nerves, pressing softly. You're almost whining into her mouth as she starts to move her fingers in circles, and heat is scorching through you and making your toes curl and the pressure is building as shocks of pleasure roll through your body in waves and—

"How do you want me?" Brittany's breath is hot in your ear and your eyes roll back into your head. "Tell me how you want me."

"Inside," you gasp out and Brittany's tongue traces your earlobe, another breath of hot air wafting into your ear, and your back arches as she slips two fingers into you, filling you, and you moan brokenly, the sound shaking through the air.

Brittany's pumping her fingers in and out of you slowly, almost agonizingly, and you dig your nails into her back as she presses your lips together once more. Her pace quickens and you feel your stomach bottom out when she presses her hips against the back of her palm, pushing her deeper into you with each roll of her hips. You groan as her thighs slap against yours and her fingers tap _that spot_ inside you every time she pushes in and you hiccup out a gasp each time. When her thumb reaches up to draw tight circles around your clit, the pressure in your spine snaps and you explode with flashes of light behind your eyelids and a moan of Brittany's name of your tongue.

Your thighs are shaking to close but Brittany places a steady palm against one of them to keep them open as she draws out your orgasm, still pumping and curling her fingers inside of you. The sensations of pleasure become too sharp so you whimper as you push against her hands.

Brittany pulls out her fingers and you moan at the loss as she leans above you. You finally blink open your eyes and she's staring down at you with a satisfied smile on her face. You laugh breathlessly, throwing a hand over your eyes as you catch your breath and she giggles along with you, dropping a kiss onto your lips, before laying down next to you.

After a moment, you find the strength to roll on top of her. "Hi," you whisper.

Her blue eyes twinkle back at you. "Mm, I think you said that already," she teases softly.

You grin at her before you lean down to press your lips against hers, sighing against her mouth as you trace your tongue against the seam of her bottom lip. She opens her mouth freely for you, letting you curl your tongue against the roof of her mouth, and you can feel her breath hitch in her chest.

Your hand brushes against the inside of her thighs and you gasp, pulling away from her mouth. Brittany's biting down on her lip as you part her legs and her inner thighs are _slick_ with her desire for you and the sight makes the moisture leave your mouth in an instant.

You lean down and trail your tongue down the valley of her chest, tracing the deep line running vertically through her abs, down the ridges of her hipbones, and you pull at her underwear with your teeth, eyes locking onto Brittany's blue ones. She closes her eyes with a whimper as she lifts her hips to let you pull them off with your hands and you settle in between her legs.

You mouth along the inside of her thigh, tracing that line of muscle you've been wanting to taste since earlier, and Brittany's fingers come to interlock with yours. You drop one last kiss to the inside of her thigh before lifting both of her strong, muscled legs onto your shoulders.

You can't resist teasing her, tongue dragging lightly around her center, skirting around where she needs it most whenever she shifts her hips towards your mouth, and she lets out a frustrated groan.

"Santana, _please_ ," she moans throatily and the sound of her moaning your name is so hot, it makes your hips roll down onto the mattress and your forehead lean against her thigh as your eyes close.

Her heels dig into your back and you inhale with a deep shaky breath, the smell of her desire overwhelming your senses, and you place a wet, open-mouthed kiss against her center and Brittany's back arches and her hips almost come off the bed so you press your interlocked hands against her hipbones to keep her still as you dive back in.

You trace your tongue against her clit in a steady rhythm, your full lips brushing against her center, and she cants your name in between gasps of _ohmygod_ and pleas of _don't stop_. You unlock one of your hands from hers as you trace the tips of your fingers against her entrance and her hips buck against your mouth.

"Finger me," Brittany pleads around a broken moan and your hips press against the mattress even harder as you moan against her center. The sound of your moan vibrates against her and she cries out as two of your fingers slip inside and her slick, wet heat is tight around you. You suck her nub of nerves into your mouth, tongue flicking against it in figure-eight motions, as you curl your fingers inside of her, pulling in and out of her, and you can feel her start to tighten and throb around your fingers.

"Santana!" She moans loudly as she comes apart, her thighs tightening around your ears almost painfully and her heels digging into your back. Brittany throws her head back in a throaty groan as your mouth continues your ministrations against her dripping hot flesh and her hips thrash against your hands. You don't stop kissing and sucking and tracing figures with your tongue until she's tugging at your shoulder to bring you up to her.

Your chin and cheeks and mouth are wet with her desire and she eyes you hungrily as you wipe the dampness off your face before she's tugging you closer. Her tongue enters your mouth and she moans at the taste of herself on your tongue and she curls her fingers in your hair. You kiss for long moments, lazily swiping your tongues against each other, before the kiss starts to grow sloppy and you pull away.

Brittany laughs breathily, her eyes closed, as she pulls you into her arms, tangling your legs with yours.

"That was _amazing_."

And you can barely murmur out your agreement before your eyes flutter shut, a smile lingering on your lips.

/

You don't get very much sleep throughout the night, though.

You both don't.

After about ten minutes of dozing in and out of sleep, you wake up to the feel of Brittany's tongue entering you and you gasp awake.

And after she's felt you shatter around her tongue two times in a row, you tug her thighs over your head as she rides your face into another orgasm, fingers gripping your headboard tightly.

At one point, you end up discovering just how flexible Brittany is as you spread her legs farther and farther and farther as you grind your center slickly against hers, gasping out her name.

Sometime during the night, she makes you come apart with a palm pressing down firmly on your back as she fills you from behind and your knees dig so hard into the mattress, you still have the imprints of the mattress dug into the skin of your knees hours later.

It goes on like that for hours where, as soon as one of you feels sated, the other is descending her mouth onto skin and you begin again and again and _again_.

/

When you blink your eyes open blearily in the morning, the sight almost floors you.

Brittany's still sleeping peacefully, long eyelashes resting against the tops of her cheeks, and her blonde hair is fanned out across your pillow. You trail your eyes down the expanse of her back, tracing over the dimples at the base of her spine, before the sheets cover the rest of her. Soft morning light is muted as it streams in through your curtains, highlighting flashes of Brittany's milky skin.

She's beautiful.

You shift closer to her and immediately, the movement rings through your chest with pain, and you groan.

The sound makes Brittany's eyelashes flutter slowly and your breath catches as her blue eyes blink open lazily.

"Good morning," Brittany murmurs, her voice rough from sleep, and the sound hits you low in your gut with want.

You shift closer to her, eager for another round, but as soon as you move, pain registers throughout your chest and you groan again.

"Morning," you wheeze out as the pain throbs through your chest.

"What's wro—" Brittany gasps out in pain too as she tries to turn over and soon, you realize what's wrong with both of you.

You laugh around the pain, trying not to move. "Britt, you're _covered_ in hickeys."

Brittany lands on her back with a groan and she chuckles. "Well, joke's on you too, because so are you."

You reach out gingerly to trace over the column of her neck, fingers tracing lightly over the dark bruises trailing all the way down her chest. "I'd say sorry, but…" You smirk.

Brittany's blue eyes darken as she looks at you. "Me neither."

She tries to roll over to you but buckles halfway with a groan and you both burst into giggles, which makes it even worse.

/

"How was the game?"

You flinch as you hear Quinn come up beside you in the break room later that day, after you and Brittany tried and failed to do another round after you both ached with bruises and soreness and instead parted ways as you both went off to work. You shuffle your feet to turn your whole body towards Quinn, taking care to keep your head still and refrain from turning your neck.

"It was great. We won," you say stiffly.

Quinn arches an eyebrow at you. "Why are you acting like that? And why are you wearing a _scarf_? It's eighty-five degrees out."

You grimace. "I was… cold."

Quinn rolls her eyes at you, reaching out to tug your scarf down an inch, and you hiss as you try to reach out to stop her but all the hickeys Brittany's given you ache sorely with the movement.

"Oh my _god_ , you slut," Quinn whispers. "I knew it!"

"Shut up." You gingerly tug your scarf back up to cover your neck and you wince as you shuffle out of the break room and into your office.

"What happened to taking things slow?" Quinn hounds you, following closely behind you.

"We did. But after yesterday…" The memory of the game and the night brings a smile to your face. You shrug weakly, barely moving your shoulders. "It just felt like the time was right."

"So what else happened yesterday then? Other than the obvious."

You grin. "She asked me to be her girlfriend. Officially."

Quinn beams back at you. "I'm happy for you, S."

You sigh, reveling in the memories of yesterday and of Brittany. "Yeah, me too."

Quinn waits a beat before she smirks. "Thank god, though, because it was _torture_ having to sit through you two eye-fucking each other every week and dealing with your sexually-frustrated ass at work for _months_."

You glare at her in response and try to chuck a pen towards her but it barely makes it an inch with how weakly you throw it. She laughs at your miserable attempt. "How are you even hurting to _move_ right now?"

Your cheeks heat up. "The hickeys kind of… go all the way down my chest," you mutter, embarrassed.

Quinn laughs so hard that you eventually have to get one of your associates to help escort her out because, clearly, you're in no position to do so.

But Quinn's mockery and the pain are _totally_ worth it.


	3. Game 11 of 162

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being with Brittany during baseball season has its… quirks.
> 
> For one thing, you didn't realize that there's _so many_ games in baseball. You're slightly more familiar with sports like football, from cheerleading in high school to getting into the USC versus UCLA football rivalry in college. When you asked Brittany when you could attend the next game with her, you were expecting her to say _in a couple weeks_ , not list off every single day of the week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, there's a bunch of baseball talk in here, way more than the other chapters, but the later scenes should hopefully make up for it. If you're curious, you can put _Too Deep_ by dvsn on when it hits _that_ scene (you'll know when) and then you can play the song that it sampled its beat from, _So Anxious_ by Ginuwine, to play you out through the end of the chapter.
> 
> As always, you can catch me on Tumblr at kurzelx if you have any questions. Onto the chapter!

Being with Brittany during baseball season has its… quirks.

For one thing, you didn't realize that there's _so many_ games in baseball. You're slightly more familiar with sports like football, from cheerleading in high school to getting into the USC versus UCLA football rivalry in college. When you asked Brittany when you could attend the next game with her, you were expecting her to say _in a couple weeks_ , not list off every single day of the week.

And when Brittany held up tickets to three straight weekday games with the brightest grin on her face, you didn't have the heart to say no. You've had to run out of the office at five o'clock sharp all week, hastily throwing on Brittany's jersey as you rush across town to the stadium in disastrous Los Angeles rush-hour traffic. You're barely able to make it into your seat next to Brittany, out of breath and sometimes with the jersey buttoned askew, to make the first pitch of the game two hours later.

You're also getting accustomed to long nights at your place after games because Brittany has all this extra _energy_ and, of course, as her dutiful girlfriend, you help her burn it off. Hours later, when your legs feel boneless and an ache is forming in your thighs and with Brittany sleeping soundly in your bed, you shuffle towards your home office with a yawn and put in a couple hours of work until the late morning.

It's almost a relief when the Dodgers go on the road, because you get a reprieve from attending games for a few days. It works out for both of you because Brittany watches the games on your television and you get to work in your home office while the game's on instead of the middle of the night. However, you quickly realize that there's virtually no difference between Brittany watching a game in person and watching a game on TV.

If anything, Brittany's even _more_ enthusiastic when she's watching the game on-screen. The first time you heard Brittany exclaim out a feverish " _No!"_ , you forgot the game was even on as your stomach dropped and you rushed into the living room, quickly asking in a panic, "Britt, what's wrong?"

Brittany just turned to you with a pained expression and gestured to the TV and whined, "We just hit into an inning-ending double play!"

You quickly adjusted to hearing Brittany's reactions from the other room. She'll scream in a cheer when the Dodgers score a run, groan loudly when the other team does, and yell at the umpire on-screen whenever there's a bad call. You've even caught her in a one-sided argument with your TV, heatedly saying to you when you walked by to grab a glass of water, "These announcers are totally biased. Do they even _know_ that the Dodgers are also on the field?"

A couple games in, Brittany's reactions have become almost white noise as you type away on your laptop. Since you've secured the contract with the movie studio, your workload has increased and you've been working through the nights, hunched over in your home office with the sound of baseball and Brittany becoming your nightly soundtrack. You've got awhile until the campaign officially launches near the end of the year, but this campaign is significantly more expansive than the Super Bowl campaign. This campaign could put your agency and your career on the map, but it's definitely the most ambitious campaign you and your team have ever taken on.

You're sure that the muscles in your upper back have drawn themselves into a mess of knots and the only reason why your back hasn't settled into a permanent hunchback is because, around ten or eleven at night, the sounds of the TV are switching off and Brittany's striding into your office with a gentle smile and tugging on your wrist to take you to bed.

You also quickly learn that Brittany takes game spoilers _very_ seriously. When you've managed to finish a huge section of the campaign, Brittany takes you out to celebrate for your first date in weeks that isn't at Dodger Stadium or during your lunch break. As you're recounting the details of your campaign to Brittany over dinner, a commotion occurs next to you as a couple joins a larger group at their table.

"Sorry, we're late. We were catching the Dodgers game on TV."

"Oh, yeah? How'd they do?"

"Ugh, _terrible_ , I don't know what we were thinking acquiring Romo—"

Brittany sits up suddenly and plugs her fingers in her ears. As you shoot her a bewildered look, she says louder than usual, "Let me know when they stop talking about the game!"

"Brittany, _what_ are you doing?" You whisper through your teeth, a fake smile plastered on your face as the group in question skirts their eyes over to you and Brittany.

"I'm watching the game recording later and I can't get any spoilers before I watch!" Brittany half-yells, looking at you expectantly as if this is perfectly normal behavior, with her fingers still plugged into her ears.

Mortified, you run a hand over your face, nodding politely to the group who's still looking at you and Brittany and they gratefully decide to switch topics.

You tug at Brittany's arms until she unplugs her hands from her ears. "They're done, Britt," you say but a grin starts to spread on your face when Brittany gives you a bashful shrug.

"Sorry," she says, tone lilting up at the end almost as if in a question, and an embarrassed smile comes across her lips and the sight is utterly charming that you just laugh and shake your head.

So it's been an adjustment period, but you and Brittany end up settling into a nice rhythm when the Dodgers are on the road. But when the Dodgers are set to return and play a few games at home, Brittany's kind enough to give you an out of attending the next few home games in favor for your work. When you apologized profusely, Brittany waved you off with a smile and told you not to worry and that she nonchalantly mentioned that she hasn't done a Draft Day yet anyways.

And that's how you met Brittany's friends and learned what Draft Day was, when you stopped by Brittany's place the following day to find a raucous group of Dodgers fans in her apartment, arguing amongst themselves as Brittany stood in front, a large blown-up calendar next to her. You quirk an eyebrow at her and Brittany gives you a sheepish grin and a quick kiss hello as she introduced you to everyone.

"Babe, this is Finn," a tall, lumbering man in a blue Dodgers jersey gives you a goofy grin, "Artie," a scrawny guy in glasses and a wheelchair that has blue wheels waves at you, "Jake," a man with short, cropped hair and dressed in a white Dodgers jersey nods at you, "and you know Mike." Mike is sitting on a barstool in the corner with a blue Dodgers t-shirt on, staring at the rest of the group with amusement, and you give everyone a wave.

Brittany's group of friends, however, just _stare_ at you with large grins or slightly slackened jaws.

"Hi…" You draw out warily.

"Brittany, you weren't kidding. She's hot," Artie blurts out.

"Artie!" Brittany hisses as you give a surprised laugh.

"Yeah, you totally get a pass for not taking any of us to the first few games if you were taking _her_ ," Jake says with a slightly lewd grin.

Brittany's cheeks tinge slightly pink and she quickly claps her hands. "Okay, enough of that! I've got June available still against the Giants. Who wants the tickets?" That seems to flip a switch with the group and they all devolve into arguments again as you stand by with a bemused smile.

"Sorry about them. They get… excited," Brittany says to you in a hushed tone, an embarrassed look on her face.

"You said I was hot?" You raise an eyebrow at her.

Brittany's cheeks flush a shade darker before she curls a hand around your waist. "They just haven't met any of my," she gestures vaguely, "people before and I _may_ have said you were the hottest woman I've ever seen." She gives you a cheeky grin that makes you laugh.

"Well, flattery will get you everywhere, Britt," you tease, looping your arms around her neck. The hand around your waist dips into the back pocket of your jeans as Brittany tucks a finger into one of your belt loops to tug you even closer and your hips press tightly against hers. Your mouth goes a little dry at the feel of Brittany's hips against yours, recalling how you two were in a similar position just this morning, and it seems like she can tell where your mind's gone because Brittany just chuckles before giving you a proper kiss.

You probably let it go on a little too long to be decent in a room full of Brittany's friends you just met because you distantly hear Mike coughing in the background, but you give Brittany's bottom lip another nip before slowly pulling away to look at her. You're obsessed with the way Brittany's lips are stretched in a smile and her eyes are still closed before her eyelids flutter open lazily to reveal gorgeous blue eyes. Brittany's dazed look after you kiss her is becoming your favorite sight in the world.

"Mm, hi, girlfriend," Brittany murmurs, a pleased smile on her lips.

"Hi, girlfriend," you parrot back, crinkling your nose at her.

Brittany then perks up, holding a finger up at you, as she untangles from your embrace to rummage through a stack of blue tickets on a nearby table. She seems to find what she's looking for because she turns back to you with a single blue ticket in hand.

"I know you've got tons of work, but you're my first choice for this Friday's game and it's going to be a _really_ good one. We're facing the Diamondbacks and Kershaw and Greinke are pitching." Brittany waggles her eyebrows at you and waves the ticket in her hands.

You have no idea what half of her last sentence even means, but it catches her friend's attention. "Whoa, how come _she_ gets to go to the Kershaw/Greinke game?" Finn protests loudly.

Brittany shoots him a look. "Girlfriend privileges, that's why. Now, butt out, Finn," Brittany narrows her eyes at him playfully before turning back to you expectantly. "So, what do you say?"

Your mouth is twitching upwards amusedly. "Well," you reach out to tug lightly on the ticket Brittany's holding. She doesn't let go but instead follows along with the ticket, smile slowly spreading, as she lets you pull her towards you. "I've got to put those girlfriend privileges to use."

You lean up and press your lips against hers again. This time, you keep it short, pulling away after a few seconds. "I'll let you get back to it. I just wanted to stop by before starting in on work at my place."

Brittany pouts and you can't resist placing another quick kiss against her lips to kiss it away. "No pouting. Besides," you lean in close and press your lips against the shell of her ear, "If you can wrap up here early enough, maybe we can go for round four before the day ends."

You can feel Brittany's hands grip tighter onto your hips to keep you close but you twist free of her grasp, giving her a smirk. You enjoy the stunned expression on her face for a few moments before strutting out through the door.

As the door is swinging shut, you can hear Brittany say loudly, "Okay, I need everyone to pick whatever games they want and _get out._ "

/

**Game 11 of 162**

"…on ahead with scrapping that creative then if it's not performing."

You catch sight of Brittany coming down the stadium rows with a tray of two beers and two hot dogs in her hands, her smile faltering slightly as she comes nearer.

The look on her face makes you straighten up in your seat. "You know what? I can't talk right now. I'm on PTO today. You'll just have to email me the rest, okay?" You click your phone shut after exchanging goodbyes with your associate and shoot Brittany an apologetic smile as you shift your knees sideways to let her into the row.

Brittany shuffles in beside you, setting your beer carefully in the cup holder in front of your seat. "Everything okay?"

You lean over and kiss her cheek, pocketing your phone. "Everything's fine. Just some work things. Thanks for grabbing the food and drinks."

Brittany chews on her bottom lip for a second. "Are you sure? I know you've got a lot of work with the new campaign and all."

You wrap your fingers around her forearm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I do, but I took today off to be here with you."

Brittany bobs her head absently but her eyes flicker with a passing emotion that you can't quite read. You cock your head to one side, the corner of your lips lifting gently.

Brittany makes eye contact with you for a second before her eyes dart around, not settling on one particular area. Her fingers pick at the frayed denim around her knees. "I know, but I don't want you to be falling behind at work because you're at the game with me."

"With all the work I'm putting in after hours, I can afford a day off," you say with a laugh but Brittany doesn't join you. You nudge her shoulder with yours. "What's up, Britt?"

Brittany shifts a little in her seat. "It's just… I know you can't join me for every single game but I like it when you're here. With me. But I don't want you to be, yknow, sacrificing anything at work. I know how important it is to you." She looks at you hesitantly and affection grips at your chest.

You trail your fingers on the inside of her arm. "Work _is_ a priority but so are you. And I know they're," you nod at the Dodgers players stretching on the field, "important to you too. Trust me. I like being here with you, Britt."

She exhales a rattling breath, rolling her eyes self-deprecatingly before casting them downwards. "It's not too much?" she asks in a small voice.

You duck your head to catch those blue eyes and shoot her a warm smile. "I promise I'll let you know if the games ever get too much, okay?"

Brittany glances up at you. "Promise?"

You nod, bringing your elbow onto the arm rest between you and holding your pinky out. "Pinky promise," you say with an exaggerated graveness.

Brittany's lips twitch upwards as she glances at your outstretched pinky. You wiggle it for emphasis and her lips break into a full grin as her eyes roll playfully.

She hooks her own pinky finger around yours and you squeeze her pinky before tugging her closer for a kiss. You can feel her smile against your lips and you can't help laughing against hers before pulling away.

"Now, _what_ are these?" You gesture downwards to Brittany's lap, where two large hot dogs are set on top of a tray she's balancing on her knees. The hot dogs are enormous, measuring almost a foot long, and condiments and toppings are piled high on each hot dog, almost spilling past the bun and onto the tray.

Brittany beams. "These are Dodger Dogs. Don't they look amazing?"

"Britt," you start, "these should be illegal."

She scoffs, looking affronted. "Don't… what's the saying? Knock twice until you've got it?"

You stifle a smile. "Knock it til you've tried it."

Brittany points a finger at you. "Yeah, that. Don't knock it til you've tried it, babe. In fact…" She swoops a hand under a Dodger Dog, balancing it carefully so that the mountain of toppings and condiments don't spill over, and extends it to you. "Open up."

You lean away with a laugh. "Brittany, I am _not_ eating that."

You can barely see Brittany's blue eyes shining with mirth over the top of the hot dog. She wiggles the hot dog closer to you and you giggle as you push her arm away gently. The hand holding the hot dog wavers dangerously and you squeak around a laugh. "Brittany!"

"C'mon," Brittany says, her tone dipping as she glances at you through her eyelashes. You shake your head as your eyes roll skywards, biting down on your grin.

When you glance back at Brittany, she's got a smirk playing on her lips and you just shake your head again. "Fine," you draw out with a smile on your face and she makes a pleased noise, holding out your Dodger Dog to you. You curl your fingers delicately around her wrist to steady her hand as you try to take a bite.

It's… not bad. It's pretty good, actually, as far as hot dogs go. The beef tastes quality and the mix of toppings and condiments surprisingly go well together, even though you wouldn't have put half of these on a hot dog if you had the choice. Or, well, you really wouldn't eat a hot dog in general, but you're finding that you're doing—and enjoying—a lot of things you wouldn't find yourself doing only months before, all because of one gorgeous blonde.

You cover your mouth as you chew as Brittany stares at you eagerly. She scoots to the edge of her seat as she leans in. "Well?"

You swallow the last bite and shrug nonchalantly. "It's alright," you say evenly.

Brittany throws her head back in a laugh. "Liar."

You grin widely at how easily Brittany sees through you. "Okay, it's good," you laugh, "For something that I don't think should count as real food, it's pretty good."

"That's blasphemy. Dodger Dogs are their own food group," Brittany retorts. She then lifts her own hot dog in her hands and raises her eyebrows before taking a disgustingly huge bite to prove her point.

You wrinkle your nose as you watch her struggle to chew it down, her cheeks puffing out with the amount of food. "I worry about you."

Brittany winks at you, swallowing the last few bites and gulping down some of her beer. "You love it."

You can't help but laugh because she's grinning at you with a smudge of ketchup on the corner of her lips. "Britt, you've got something." You reach out with your thumb to wipe it away and she tracks your thumb as it comes closer, grin still on her face and her blue eyes going a little cross-eyed as your thumb comes near.

Brittany seizes your hand as you pull away and draws your thumb into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it to lick it clean. The sensation makes your knees weak and if you weren't already sitting, you probably would've fallen over. She releases your thumb with a _plop_ and makes eye contact solidly with you. "Yum."

"You're evil," you say weakly.

Brittany just laughs and kisses your quickly warming cheek.

/

A beer and a struggle to finish your Dodger Dog later, the music starts to amp up through the stadium as the stadium announcer calls out the starting line-ups for both teams.

_"Number 21… Zack Greinke!"_

Brittany stands up from her seat, cupping her mouth as she boos loudly. When she sits back down, she's got a scowl on her face and her eyes are narrowed as Greinke's face shows up on the large scoreboard.

You raise an eyebrow. "What's the deal with Greinke?"

Brittany crosses her arms and slouches a little bit in her seat. "He used to pitch for us. He was our number two pitcher, right behind Kershaw, for awhile."

You've seen a couple of Kershaw shirts and jerseys hanging in Brittany's closet. "That's our pitcher tonight, right?"

Brittany nods, an awed smile wiping the scowl from her lips. "Yeah. _The_ pitcher. He's our ace."

A chant starts up as soon as the announcer finishes announcing the Dodgers line-up, the crowd chanting, "Beat A-Z! Beat A-Z!"

"Jeez, this crowd does not like the… Diamondbacks?" You look to Brittany for confirmation and she nods.

"Yeah. Or more like Greinke, really. He and Kershaw were _deadly_ together for our starting rotation for years. But then, he got the chance to opt-out of his contract. We gave him an offer and it looked like we were _so close_ to making a good run for the World Series with him as our number two if he chose to stay, but he picked the Diamondbacks and the money—more money than what we were even paying Kershaw—over signing back with the team."

"Huh." You didn't know there were so many… _dynamics_ involved with baseball. You offer, "But at least we still have Kershaw, right?"

Brittany gives you a pleased look at your response before nodding. "That's true. He's hands-down the best pitcher in the game." She sighs. "But really, we're wasting his best years."

You tilt your head. "How so?"

Brittany tracks the players warming up on the field, eyes singling in on the player in question, warming up on the mound. "Kershaw's been pitching with us for almost a decade now and he's at his prime."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He's won the highest pitching honors in baseball multiple times. He's pitched a no-hitter. He's pitched complete games. He doesn't allow more than two runs against him on average over his entire career, which is ridiculously low. He's the _best._ "

Some of that flies over your head, but the admiration in Brittany's voice is clear. "Wow. Why do you think we're wasting him then?"

Brittany sighs. "He had a major back injury last year and, well, he's getting older. And for so many seasons, we've won games off his back, but we've never been able to get him that ring that he truly deserves."

Brittany looks forlorn about it and you hum thoughtfully. But before you can ask her more about Kershaw, the first batter of the game steps up to the plate and you both settle in to watch.

/

Brittany's eyes keep flickering to the scoreboard.

The Dodgers have a healthy lead, having scored five runs against Greinke and effectively chasing him out of the game. Brittany's loud jeering and her shameless grin afterwards made you laugh, knowing the little bit of context behind the bad blood there. The Diamondbacks have yet to hit against Clayton Kershaw, making the score 5-0, Dodgers.

The score's not what's making Brittany nervous, though.

"It's the bottom of the seventh," Brittany says to you for the third time this half-inning. She's scooted all the way to the edge of her chair, elbows on her knees and her hands folded in front of her mouth as she hunches forward, tracking every swing the Dodgers batters take.

"You've said that, Britt," you say, half-amused.

"Are they going to send him back out?" Brittany turns to you, eyes wide.

You giggle a little because, really, how would _you_ know, and this must register with Brittany because she gives you an embarrassed grin before chewing on her nails. "His pitch count is low enough for it to happen," she comments.

You turn back to the field when you hear the crack of a bat but the ball lands right into the glove of a well-positioned player and the inning is over.

"Remind me again what's the deal if Kershaw goes back out for the 8th inning?"

Brittany's eyes flicker back up to the scoreboard. "Most pitchers usually pitch until the 7th inning. But with the way his pitch count is and with the score, he could pitch the whole game. We could be watching," she drops her voice to a whisper, "a complete game shut-out."

Even though you're fairly new to the game, you know that two whole innings is a long time to go and Kershaw's been pitching for seven innings already. To pitch an entire game allowing not a single batter to score… the significance of what you're witnessing starts to settle, goosebumps rising on your skin. The crowd has caught on to what's going on too, low murmurs going through the stadium as if no one wants to break the quiet to voice what's on everyone's mind.

You can see why Brittany reveres Kershaw so much and why she calls him the greatest pitcher in the game. He's been lights out this game, practically unhittable. And you've never seen pitches the way he throws them. One particular pitch of his has been freezing batters all game, an almost lethal pitch that starts chest-high then drops dramatically to the batter's shins within a blink of an eye. Brittany informed you that this was Kershaw's signature curveball, a pitch that's become so infamous that Vin Scully, a legendary baseball announcer for the Dodgers, nicknamed it _Public Enemy Number One._

The stadium thunders in a wave of cheers as Kershaw strides out of the dugout and back towards the mound. You rise to your feet at the same time Brittany does, your hands coming together in a rousing round of applause. Kershaw's head is hung low in concentration, his stride even, his movements as he settles onto the pitcher's mound measured and calm. You can see Kershaw take a deep breath and the cheers have melded into a loud, single roar that resonates through your chest.

Kershaw's next pitch is hit into the air, but you can see a Dodgers outfielder already waiting, glove outstretched towards the sky as he waits for the ball to come. Adrenaline builds through you as you realize that's one out down.

Goosebumps prickle along your skin as it hits you that you're in the middle of watching an effort that only a handful of pitchers achieve in their whole careers, a physical and athletic feat that only a small percentage of people can accomplish. You're a witness to it, one of tens of thousands in a stadium that feels electric with possibility as the crowd responds to what's occurring before them.

And in that moment, you get it.

You get the awe that shakes behind Brittany's voice. You get the gleam in her eyes when she sees a baseball leave the skilled hand of a pitcher or the arc of the bat as it swings through the air. You've become a part of something larger than you, you've joined thousands in bated breath over the possibility of history being made, you're watching _greatness_ unfold.

A crack of the bat pulls your attention back to the field and you watch as a Diamondbacks player reaches first base, and the crowd responds with unease. But then, the batter following him hits Kershaw's next pitch onto the ground. One of the Dodgers infielders picks it up quickly, tagging second base to get the Diamondbacks player running to second, before throwing to first base to get the runner heading to first. Just like that, the half-inning's over.

"Double play," you rush out in a breath. "We're going to the bottom of the 8th."

Brittany looks over to you and you see that _gleam_ in her eyes but with the way she's looking at you, it seems like there might be the same gleam in yours. Her breath catches and you revel in this moment, this possibility, here with Brittany.

You reach out to thread your fingers together, giving her hand a squeeze, and the electricity buzzing through the stadium zings between you both wordlessly. The tension leaves her shoulders as she lets out a steady exhale, and you both turn back to watch the final innings unfold in anticipation.

/

The game ended just shy of greatness.

In the top of the 9th inning, with just two more outs to record and nearing 100 total pitches pitched, Kershaw allowed a ripping double that scorched its way to the outfield, allowing a run to score. The crowd deflated as Kershaw shook his head, the shut-out breaking as the Diamondbacks player rounded home. The Dodgers coach signaled for another pitcher to replace Kershaw on the mound, putting an end to Kershaw's pursuit of pitching a complete game for the night.

As the coach transferred the ball from Kershaw's glove to the replacement pitcher, the stadium thundered for Kershaw as he walked back to the dugout, his head hung low. Even as the replacement pitcher started settling on the mound, the stadium all joined in on a chant of _Ker-shaw! Ker-shaw!_ until the player ran back out to the field, tipping his cap to the thousands of cheering fans.

You're sitting in the passenger seat of Brittany's Jeep, an exhilarated grin still on your face from the win, even if you didn't get the chance to see history. You look out to the wash of cars lined up to exit the stadium, headlights alight casting neon shadows of red all along the dashboard.

The Jeep trudges along in the traffic, inching forward slowly, and you gaze at Brittany's profile alight in red neon, a matching grin on her face. She feels your eyes on her and she glances over to you.

"What a game, huh?" Her tone is a little bit knowing, like she knows you felt _it_ tonight, the sweeping emotion of awe that goes beyond watching an exhilarating game, that goes beyond the satisfaction of seeing a team you're rooting for win. She knows you felt the wonder that overcomes you upon seeing triumph, the tug in your chest as you become a part of something bigger. It's almost indescribable and almost fleeting in nature, but you know that this feeling is one that drives Brittany's passion for the game, and it aligns you a little closer with her than you were before tonight.

"Yeah," you nod, holding her gaze, "What a game."

/

You lean against the doorframe and cross your legs at your ankles, pressing your thighs together tightly.

You're visiting Brittany at the studio because she had to sub in for a couple of classes this weekend after another instructor called in sick. You figured you'd surprise her and get to see her in her element, having never seen Brittany dance before. Well, it turns out it's more like she's surprising _you_ because she's _phenomenal_ and it's making your whole body flush with heat.

Brittany's standing at the front of the room, the walls covered in mirrors. The room is packed with dancers with barely any space between each person. Brittany hasn't noticed you yet as she stands in front, her signature Dodgers ball cap perched high on her head, her blonde hair tied tight underneath and swishing with every step she takes, a cropped hoodie on with her toned abdomen on full display, black joggers slung low on her hips, and a pair of sneakers on her feet. Even from outside of the studio room, you can see the light sheen of sweat on the long line of muscle in her neck and beads of sweat collecting in the grooves of her abs, and you're feeling a little dizzy.

Brittany runs through a count of her choreography at half-time with the class following along and you can see her grin in the mirror as she finishes leading the count. She orders something to the class, getting nods in response, and Brittany strides over to the music dock to start the music up again. Mid-step, she catches sight of you in the doorway and her entire face lights upon seeing you, beaming and waving enthusiastically. You can barely muster a weak wave in response, still mesmerized from watching her, and Brittany jogs back to the front of the class as the music bumps through the speakers.

 _"5, 6, 7, 8!"_ You can hear Brittany's muffled shout over the music and she launches into the choreography, the whole class following suit. You're thinking you need to sit down right about now, because the way she's moving—hard hits of her arms, smooth spins, powerful swings of her legs, a smirk on her face as she throws herself into the movements—sends heat through you that settles tightly in your stomach. Really, this class needs to end as soon as possible so you can take Brittany back to your place.

You feel someone come up beside you and chuckle.

"Hey, Santana," Mike greets, eyebrow raised.

Heat creeps up your neck because you realize you're standing here practically drooling like an idiot. "Jesus, you scared me, Mike," you lay a hand on your chest and Mike just laughs in response.

"She's pretty good, huh?" Mike nods towards Brittany as she finishes the choreography to a rouse of applause from the class.

"She's _amazing._ I had no idea she could dance like that," you say, eyes wide.

"Yeah, that's why I had to recruit her over here to teach for us. She's been our most popular instructor since. I'd be a little jealous if she wasn't clearly so much better than me," Mike says with an easy grin.

You both clear the doorway as dancers start to shuffle out of the class. Brittany jogs over to you both.

"Hey, guys!" Brittany greets with a pant, chest slightly heaving.

You and Mike greet her back in response and Brittany takes a step closer to you. Her eyes are bright, lit up in clear surprise, a pleased grin on her lips. "What are you doing here?" You can feel the heat coming off her skin and you watch as a lone bead of sweat trails down her neck and you flex your fingers at your side to restrain from following it with your mouth.

"I came to surprise you," you reply after a beat, clearing your throat, and Brittany beams at you.

"Britt, you gotta teach me that choreo, it looked insane," Mike holds his fist out to Brittany and she laughs as she bumps her fist against his.

"For sure," Brittany replies, still a little out of breath from her class. She stretches her arms up, dabbing sweat off her temple with her sleeve. The edge of her cropped hoodie rises even higher to display more of her toned abdomen and you pointedly look down at your shoes. You really need to have a conversation with Brittany about investing in some appropriately sized clothing because this really can't be good for your health.

"How many classes do you have today?" Mike asks.

"This is my last one for the day. I have just a few more tomorrow that I've gotta sub."

"Thanks for subbing, by the way, you're a lifesaver."

Brittany laughs and waves him off, stepping closer to you to press a palm against the small of your back casually. Immediately, your body responds to Brittany's touch, your skin tingling as she nears, and you shiver a little.

"Oh," you straighten up, suddenly remembering that you actually came here for a reason, "I actually swung by because I wanted to ask you something. Quinn and Sam want to get together tonight since we're _officially_ girlfriends." You roll your eyes at their ridiculousness, or well, Quinn's ridiculousness.

"Sure! Wait…" Brittany cocks her head at Mike and he nods in confirmation.

"It's a travel day," he answers Brittany's unasked question and you're a little lost here so Mike fills in for you, "There's no game tonight."

"Ah," you nod before a thought pops into your head. "Hey, you know Sam, right? Why don't you join us, Mike?"

Brittany perks up beside you, bouncing on her heels. "Ooh, yes! Bring Tina! We could triple date!" Brittany squeezes your side. "Have you met Tina, babe?"

You shake your head. "No, not yet."

Brittany grins excitedly and turns back to Mike. "See! You both _have_ to go!"

Mike groans good-naturedly and holds his hands up. "Alright, alright, fine. Tina and I will come out. No game to miss so why not?"

Brittany pumps her fist with an enthusiastic _"_ Yes!" and you laugh, leaning into Brittany's side. "Great, we'll see you tonight. Britt'll text you the details. Now, if you wouldn't mind, Mike, we've got to go."

You thread your fingers through Brittany's and tug her towards the exit. "We do?" Brittany catches the look in your eyes as you look up at her through your eyelashes and her eyes widen. "Yup," Brittany nods, "We've got to go. See ya, Mike!"

Brittany starts jogging to the exit with you in tow and you can barely throw a, "Bye, Mike!" over your shoulder with how fast she's hurrying. You can hear Mike laughing behind you two as you both race to the exit in giggles.

/

You and Brittany rush through the doorway of the club, Brittany giggling as she wraps her arms around your waist from behind.

"Britt," you laugh as she nuzzles into your neck. You squeeze her forearms around your waist as you crane your neck a little. "You're insatiable."

Brittany sticks close to you, shuffling her feet right behind yours. You're impressed that she's able to keep both of you balanced, seeing as you're both in heels.

"I'm not entirely sure what that means, so…" Brittany murmurs into your ear, giving your earlobe a quick nip. You shiver involuntarily and turn around in her embrace.

"It means," you poke her in the abdomen, narrowing your eyes playfully, "that we are already _so_ late because you insisted on joining me in the shower and then extending it for an extra thirty minutes."

Brittany raises an eyebrow. She teases, her voice dropping as she tugs you hard by the waist to press her lower half against yours, "Are you complaining?"

The firm grip on your back, her tone, and the smug smirk playing on her lips like she already knows you definitely _aren't,_ especially since you're sure she can tell your thighs are still trembling a little, make you flush. "Let's go," you don't answer, rolling your eyes with a grin.

Brittany just giggles and lets you lead her by the hand to the back of the club, where you can spot Quinn, Sam, Mike, and Tina huddled around a booth.

"Sorry we're late," you say in a breath, sliding into the booth with Brittany following suit after you.

Quinn just lifts her arm to glance at her watch then extends her palm out to Mike. "Pay up, Chang."

Mike grumbles as he fishes out his wallet from his back pocket. He glances at you and Brittany. "You guys couldn't leave just ten minutes earlier?"

The entire table laughs as you turn into Brittany and burrow your face into the crook her neck with a groan as you catch on. "You guys are terrible," you lift your head up to glare at everyone and Brittany laughs as she trails a soothing palm down your spine.

"Santana, this is Tina," Mike offers once the chuckles settle, and Tina gives you a wave and you smile back in greeting.

"I think you're the only one I haven't met yet. I mean, since I had the chance to meet Quinn and Sam already since you two were thirty minutes late doing god _knows_ what," Tina says with an exaggerated shudder, and it sends the entire table back into laughter.

Brittany throws an arm over your shoulders and tugs you into her side. "I take full responsibility for that," Brittany replies brightly, a cheeky grin on her face.

Everyone groans in response and Sam slaps his palm onto the table. "Okay! Round of drinks on me?"

You all nod your agreement as Sam gets up from the table, tugging Mike up with him to help him with the drinks.

You shake your head, laughing. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Tina."

"You too," Tina agrees. "I'm glad you guys invited us out tonight. Now I'll finally have company when Brittany and Mike end up out-dancing everyone on the dance floor tonight."

Quinn laughs. "Oh no, I forgot we have two resident dancers with us."

Brittany blushes next to you. "We're alright."

Tina arches an eyebrow at her. "Britt, last time we went out, you and Mike got into a dance battle and got the whole crowd to stop and watch." You and Quinn burst out laughing as Brittany shakes her head modestly and Tina continues. "Seriously! I can't take these two anywhere."

Quinn points at Brittany. "But the question is who won?"

Brittany shrugs. "It was a tie."

Mike and Sam plop back into their seats, hands full of various drinks. "Tina, are you talking about the dance battle again?" Mike says with a grin.

"Dance battle? Between who?" Sam asks as he slides your whiskey and coke towards you. You give him a nod and smile in thanks.

"Britt and Mike. Apparently, it was a tie," Quinn answers, looking between Mike and Brittany.

Brittany looks upward, scratching at her nose, and Mike just laughs. "No way. I totally lost. The whole _club_ let me know, trust me."

"He's exaggerating," Brittany says to you as everyone laughs and you just smile around your glass as you lift your drink to your lips.

"Well, I don't doubt it," you tease slyly and you and Brittany eye each other for a couple of seconds as she watches you drain a sip from your glass.

"So, Brittany! You and Mike are huge Dodgers fans?" Sam asks and Quinn shoots him a look. Sam throws his hands up. "What? I'm curious! I mean, last time I saw you, it was technically on TV and with blue face paint on."

"Shut it, Trouty," you glare at him but Brittany laughs and waves you off.

"Easy, babe, I don't mind," Brittany says to you before turning back to Sam. "Yup. Dodgers fan since ever since." Mike cheers in agreement and the two clink their glasses together.

"Yeah, Britt and I are only out tonight because there isn't a game on," Mike chuckles and Tina rolls her eyes playfully beside him.

"And you have season tickets?" Sam leans forward, eyes wide.

Brittany nods, taking another sip of her drink. "Yup."

"Would you ever sell 'em?"

Brittany grins. "Over my dead body. Haven't missed a game in years."

Mike gestures towards Brittany. "You know last year's Game 5 in the NLDS?" Mike asks Sam and he nods fervently.

"Against the Nationals, right?" Sam responds.

Mike nods. "Britt even went to that one in D.C."

Sam turns back to Brittany with a slack jaw. "No way. That game was ridiculous! With Kershaw closing and everything?!"

Brittany whispers conspiratorially, "One of the best games I've ever seen."

Sam hunches forward, demanding eagerly, "What about Kershaw's no-hitter?"

"I was there."

"The game against the Padres with the—"

"Back to back to back _to back_ homers? Yup. Stayed til the 10th inning and everything."

Sam splutters in disbelief, shaking his head. His expression turns pained and you can swear his eyes start to glisten. "Oh man. 2008. Game 4. Matt Stairs. Tell me you were there."

Mike groans next to Sam, placing his hand over his heart like he was stabbed. "Don't even _mention_ that name around me."

Brittany solemnly nods, hanging her head. "That home run sucked the life out of the stadium. I was depressed for a week. I still don't think it's even landed."

You, Quinn, and Tina share amused looks as the three clink their glasses together in a miserable round of cheers.

Tina claps, snapping the three into attention. "Hey! I get enough of this Dodgers talk at home, okay? Now, can we get some shots?"

Quinn laughs. "I'm with Tina. Let's do some tequila. Santana, get us a round since you were the one that's late!"

You all fall into easy conversation and laughter as a couple rounds of drinks pile up on your table. Throughout the chatter, Brittany's arm falls from your shoulders as she places her hand low on your back, fingers stroking your spine over the fabric of your dress, and you settle close into her side. It's nice being out with Brittany _officially_ and having both of your groups of friends get along so easily. It feels good to be with Brittany in this way, after you already feel so much closer to her since you became her _girlfriend_ and since that game on Friday night where you shared in that indescribable feeling with her and thousands of other fans in the stadium. It's a welcome change from sipping at your drink alone as you watch Quinn and Sam huddle close like you have in countless nights before you met Brittany.

Warmth settles through your chest, as you groan and share a look along with Quinn when Sam busts out one of his insufferable impressions for the group and you can feel Brittany's chest rumble with giggles against your shoulder. Your chest feels like it's being drawn tight, like your heart is two sizes too big and beating against your ribs.

The feeling is so foreign to you that you don't place it until you burst out into laughter with everyone else and Brittany giggles into your hair before ghosting her lips against your temple.

You're happy.

/

You're half-listening to Tina tell Quinn about her recent show down in San Diego when you feel Brittany lean in close to you.

You tilt your head slightly towards her, your eyes still on Tina and Quinn, and Brittany's lips press against the shell of your ear.

"I really wanna dance with you," Brittany husks into your ear, her breath hot and you feel the hair on the nape of your neck rise. The smell of her perfume engulfs you along with the sharpsweet smell of whiskey on her breath and heat pumps through you and settles straight between your legs.

You turn your head towards her and find her impossibly close, so close that your noses almost brush, her blue eyes swirling a dark navy with that _look_ that never fails to make your mouth go instantly dry. One of Brittany's arms is draped along the back of your chair, pressing warmly against your shoulders, and she lifts her other hand to drag her knuckles over the table top right in front of you before gripping the edge of it, effectively trapping you between her arms.

You feel warm all over with the whiskey mixing in your system and the way Brittany is _sodamnclose._ "Yeah?" You rasp out.

A smile plays on Brittany's pink lips, her eyes half-lidded as she nods slowly. "So bad."

You recall Brittany dancing in the studio earlier, her hips swiveling and confidence oozing out of her, and the thought of her dancing _with_ you burns straight through you. You and Brittany stare at each other, your breath quickening, and you can see her eyes flicker down to your lips then down your entire body, and her gaze is so heady and full of intent that it feels like she's stripping the dress off your body with her eyes.

A familiar beat comes across the club speakers then and Sam hollers with a _whoop!_ that effectively snaps you both out of the charged moment, and Brittany grins at you as you flush.

"Guys, we've got to hit the dance floor! This is my _jam!_ " Sam exclaims, standing up. Quinn rolls her eyes as he tugs Quinn up by the wrist but laughs as she twirls into his arms. Mike and Tina follow suit, tugging both you and Brittany with them and you both laugh as you all join the crowd.

The dance floor is packed with people but you guys manage to carve out a section of the dance floor as you all dance in a circle. The beat bumping through the club speakers is infectious and Quinn is bent over laughing next to you, keeping rhythm, as she watches Sam do a _terrible_ body roll that almost takes Mike's eye out with how hard he's flailing his arms. You giggle as you sway your hips, your arm thrown over one of Brittany's shoulders and fingers curling around the back of Brittany's neck. Brittany and Tina are grinning and shaking their heads at Sam while Mike laughs and playfully shoves at him to make room.

It's a perfect night with the perfect people, the alcohol is settling into a heady buzz, the music is catchy and rattling bass through the room, and the crowd is responding to the DJ yelling into the mic. Song after song plays and you all holler as each song fades in, instantly recognizing it _._ You can feel beads of sweat start to build on the back of your neck from the dancing and the body heat and the shots of whiskey and tequila in your system. Brittany's hands are gripping you at your waist and you throw your head back and lose yourself in the music.

A song with a filthy bass beat drops into the mix and Mike yells at Brittany that it's _their song_ and you all back up with a laugh as the two jump seamlessly into practiced moves, grins on their faces. Brittany whips her hair over her shoulder as she _drops_ her hips on beat and you bite your lip when she makes eye contact with you as she moves back up.

Quinn, Sam, and Tina are clapping as Mike and Brittany finish their set of choreography, the two exchanging a fist bump, and you just shake your head and pull Brittany close.

"Impressive," you say into her ear as you drape your arm on her shoulder and your fingers curl back into the nape of Brittany's neck. Brittany throws her head back in a laugh and you can't resist all that _skin_ and you place an open-mouthed kiss against her throat. Brittany responds by drawing you two even closer.

Then, a recognizable set of notes starts filtering in through the speakers as the beat _slows_ and the song seems to zap right through Brittany. She gives you a _look_ that lights your nerve endings on fire and makes your stomach tighten in anticipation as her fingers grip at your waist, bunching up the material of your dress just slightly and exposing another inch of your thighs.

Before, you and Brittany were just dancing together, keeping rhythm and keeping close, but now Brittany is _moving_ with you and your stomach drops straight into your feet. Brittany keeps her eyes on yours as she curls her fingers around your waist, slipping a strong muscled thigh between yours, and she rolls her hips into yours on rhythm with the beat. Your hips rise up to meet hers in slow undulating waves, dictated by the bass thudding low through your chest and by Brittany's strong hands guiding your hips upwards.

You're on fire and you can't breathe as you lean your forehead against Brittany's, panting hotly against her mouth. Brittany lifts her hand from around your waist to trail torturously down your chest as she rolls her body, her hips grinding slowly onto your thigh. Brittany keeps her eyes on yours as she grinds down lower and lower and _lower,_ down the length of your body. You stare down at her through your eyelashes as her hips sway down towards the floor, her hands trailing down your back and wrapping around the back of your thighs. Brittany tugs you close and pushes one of your thighs onto her shoulder as her other hand presses on your back to prompt you into rolling your body down on the beat. You throw your head back as your hips roll and you can feel Brittany's breath hot against your thighs.

Her eyes are dark and full of intent and staring deeply into yours as she drops your thigh and lifts herself up from the floor and your breath hitches when Brittany spins you around towards a wall, pressing her entire body behind yours. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sensation of her breasts against your back, her hips pushing into your ass, and you drop the back of your head against her shoulder. You push back into her and lift your arm above your head to grab at the back of Brittany's neck as she drops her head to place a kiss against your throat, her tongue darting out to taste salty skin.

"Do you trust me?" Brittany whispers into your ear and you're sure your reply comes out in just a whimper. "Follow my lead."

You are _not_ _ready_ at all for how Brittany suddenly curls a hand on your shoulder and presses her other hand flat against your back to bend you over without missing a beat and your stomach about drops through the floor as you brace your hands against the wall. Brittany's completely in control, her hands steady as she grips your shoulder to keep you flush against her hips and presses her other hand low on your back, almost brushing the top of your ass, and everything about this, the feel of Brittany skillfully maneuvering both of your bodies in rhythm, is rendering you completely boneless. You groan out loud as your eyes roll back into your head.

The sound gets lost in the thudding music but you can tell Brittany heard you as she lets out a dark chuckle and then proceeds to grind her hips into your backside, slowing and extending each roll of her hips to hit every other beat of the bass, and your hands scramble to find purchase against the wall as she guides your body in smooth waves back into her. Her thighs are powerful behind yours and the bass seems to be echoing _through_ you and into Brittany. She trails both her hands down your back before smacking your ass playfully and spins you back upright to face her in one fluid motion and you gasp, falling into her and gripping at her biceps.

Brittany's smirking at you and her eyes are darkdark _dark_ and her hands around your waist are probably the only things holding you up because your legs are shaking and your voice is hoarse as you rasp out, "Take me home."

You don't give her a chance to respond because you crash your lips onto hers, and the kiss is messy and hot and hard, your tongue swiping against hers and her teeth biting into your bottom lip.

Brittany pulls away with a gasp. "I'll get the cab."

You both stumble off the dance floor, barely able to keep your hands off each other as you make your way to the exit, but then you see a neon sign lit up and you stop in your tracks. Brittany turns back to look at you.

"Go on ahead, I just need to go to the restroom before we go," you tell her, your voice still a little raspy, and she nods before squeezing your hand and walking out through the exit.

You walk into the bathroom a little unsteadily, still dizzy from dancing with Brittany and the drinks in your system. When you finish, you walk out of the stall to splash a little water on your face to cool you off because you feel like you're overheating and really, you need a second to catch your breath.

The door bursts open and Tina rushes in. "Hey! I was wondering where you guys went!"

You laugh, dabbing a paper towel on your face. "Just had to use the restroom. We're about to leave, actually."

Tina laughs and waggles her eyebrows. "I bet. I saw you guys on the dance floor out there."

Your cheeks heat up in slight embarrassment as you place your hands over your face with a groan. "Don't judge me."

Tina just laughs at you, waving a hand dismissively. "Hey, I can relate, trust me. And don't worry about it. You guys make a great couple."

"Thanks. You and Mike too. We should definitely all hang out again."

"Definitely! As long as it lines up with the schedule," Tina rolls her eyes towards you with a knowing sigh like she's expecting you to join in, but you tilt your head blankly. Tina catches the expression on your face. "You know, with the team and all," she elaborates.

"Oh, right, right."

Tina eyes you for a second and looks hesitant to say something.

"What is it?"

"Look, Santana, I like you for Brittany and everything…" Tina shifts a little in her place as she looks upwards like she's trying to figure out how exactly to phrase it. "It's just — well, just make sure you know what you're getting into."

"What do you mean?"

Tina shakes her head. "It's not Brittany herself, really. It's just," she makes a gesture, "the dedication to the team. Mike's the same way. Mike and I went through it when he finally told me and it's taken awhile to just get to this point and we had a couple years under our belt."

You smile back at her, shaking your head. "I don't mind. I've been going to the games and it's been pretty good so far."

"So did I at first, but I mean, it's just so much to take in and everything just _changes._ "

You nod slowly, because you know this from the past few weeks with all the adjustments you both have had to make so you're not really getting Tina's concern.

Tina lets out a heavy exhale. "Just make sure that you want _this_. That you want her and everything that comes with it. And make sure you're in it to be in it, you know?"

You _don't_ know and you're not sure what she means at all but you just give her a nod in response because your head is hazy with alcohol and you don't think you can comprehend this conversation right now and Brittany's waiting for you and you really only have one thing on your mind at this point.

Tina gives you a relieved smile before laughing and shooing you away. "Alright, alright, go. Get out of here. I'll let everyone know you guys left."

You laugh and give her a hug in goodbye. "Thanks, Tina. See you later."

You whisk out of the club to find Brittany standing underneath the streetlight, her blonde hair cascading down her back, her dress tight against her body, toned legs defined in the moonlight. When Brittany turns around to face you, her smile is wide and her eyes are sparkling blue and she holds her hand out for you to take and you lace your fingers with hers and you promptly forget everything else in the world but her palm in yours.

/

"Shh," Brittany breathes into your ear, one hand curling around both of your wrists as she lifts your hands above your head. "No touching."

Your whole body is covered in a sheen of sweat from what seems like hours of Brittany touching you and caressing her fingers all over your skin and her mouth tracing patterns into your hip bones and you whimper.

Brittany guides your fingers to wrap around one of the bars in your headboard. "Stay there for me?"

You lift your eyelids halfway open to find her hovering above you, blonde hair tossed messily over one shoulder, a hungry look in her blue eyes as she stares down at you. You can see a dark bite mark bruising against her neck and the moonlight streaming in from the window in your bedroom is casting a glow on her naked skin, slightly glistening with sweat. You dig your shoulder bones against the mattress as you tighten your grip around your headboard, nodding.

Brittany's lips stretch in a pleased smile. "Good girl," she husks before lowering herself down to _barely_ brush her body against yours and you moan.

"I'm going to," Brittany's fingers wrap around your jaw as she presses a thumb against the underside of your chin to tilt your head up and expose more of your neck, "kiss you…" She drags her lips against the column of your throat, mouth open and the tip of her tongue lightly dragging along your skin and leaving a trail of fire in your nerves.

"And… touch you," Brittany's nails scrape along the inside of your arms stretched above your head and you flex your biceps against the sensation. "…All over…"

"Until you're begging for me to _fuck_ you," Brittany finishes lowly as she lowers herself fully, pressing the length of her against you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at the sound of Brittany cursing and your knuckles go white at how hard you're gripping the headboard.

All you can do is moan Brittany's name because you can't comprehend anything else because this is so _hot_ and mixed with the way Brittany was grinding into your body earlier, _moving_ with you and with a purpose, the feel of her steady hands guiding you into a rhythm, the look in her eyes as the bass thudded between both of you, has you seeing white-hot behind your eyelids.

Brittany's tongue swirls around one of your nipples, her thumb rubbing the other, and you arch your back to feel _more._ Brittany showers your breast with attention, teeth nipping and tongue sweeping over to soothe the bite, before she switches to the other. Her hand grips at your breast, massaging in slow motions that have your hips pressing down into the mattress.

You're torn between keeping your eyes shut to focus on the almost-blinding pleasure or forcing them open to _watch_ her, so you alternate between the two. You open your eyes to watch Brittany crawl down your body and she eyes you with a smirk playing on her lips as she hovers above your abdomen. Your eyes widen as Brittany trails her tongue to trace the toned lines in your abdomen and you gasp, slamming your eyes back shut. The feel of her mouth, slick and wet and tonguing along the dips of your stomach, her thumbs rubbing along your ribs, sends heavy pulses through you to settle between your legs, a steady beat thrumming between your thighs.

Your hips buck as Brittany's mouth hovers low, dipping past your hips and closer to where you need it most but _notquitethere_ , and you moan loudly as her tongue skates along your skin. Brittany's hands spread your thighs apart and hold them down against the mattress, leaving you open for her. Your hands strain against the headboard railing and you can feel the wood creaking in your hands.

"Please," you rasp out and Brittany stills for a torturous second and you're about to combust before she finally, _finally_ lowers her mouth onto your center and presses her tongue flat against you and you're so built up, so ready for her, _aching_ for her, that you burst into her mouth at one swipe of her tongue, your spine snapping straight. You see stars behind your eyelids as waves of pleasure go through you and your hips roll into Brittany's mouth as she works you furiously through your orgasm.

Brittany presses her palms against your thighs to press them further into the mattress as she curls her tongue into you, and you moan. You can feel another orgasm starting to build and Brittany is insistent in taking you there. You can hear the wet sound of her mouth against your center as she thrusts her tongue in and out of you, nose nudging against your clit, and you push against the railing to get more friction.

You need _more_ and you whimper. "Brittany, please. Let me touch you."

Brittany lifts her head up, her mouth indecently _slick,_ and she nods at you. Immediately, your hands thread through her hair and pull her mouth against your center tightly. Brittany releases your thighs and you wrap your thighs around her shoulders, heels digging into her back. Brittany presses steady hands underneath the small of your back and lifts your hips to grind your center against her mouth.

" _Brittany,_ " you moan out as her tongue swirls around your clit as she sucks it into her mouth and your fingers tighten in her hair.

Brittany takes your hands and places them flat against the bed and you whine in protest, but then Brittany's sitting up back onto her heels and your back comes off the mattress and you tighten your thighs against her head as you brace your hands behind you.

Brittany's eyeing you darkly down the length of your body as she supports you steadily in the air, her hands pressing against your back and her tongue working against your center, and the angle allows her tongue to dive deeper into you and you groan as she flicks against a certain spot.

"I'm gonna come," you pant out as you feel your stomach draw tighter and tighter and then you explode for a second time, your walls pulsing around Brittany's tongue, and your hips thrash against her face. Your arms are starting to give out and Brittany lets your thighs fall from her shoulders as she catches you in her arms and drops you back onto the bed.

You grab at Brittany blindly, tugging at her until you switch positions and she's laying flat on her back, her blonde hair spread out across your bed, skin flushed and chest heaving.

You lift one of Brittany's thighs onto your shoulders as you stare down at the sight of _her._ Her inner thighs are a mess of wetness and she's so wet and swollen and you can't help but trail two fingers down the length of her center and she groans loudly.

You watch Brittany's chest heave and her back arches when you enter her with two fingers. The slick heat that envelops your fingers makes your eyes roll into your head as you lean your forehead against the thigh on your shoulder. You pump your fingers in and out of her quickly, almost roughly, knowing that Brittany's _been_ ready for you as Brittany lets out a throaty moan that makes your toes curl.

You pull out of her and she gasps, blue eyes opening, but you just push her other thigh open wider as you throw your leg over her thigh and lower your center against hers. You both let out simultaneous moans at the indecent _wet_ sound as you shift your hips slightly. Brittany stretches her other thigh open even further to allow you more room and you fleetingly thank _god_ for Brittany's flexibility before grinding down into her. You build a steady, slick rhythm, pumping your hips between Brittany's and gripping hard onto her thigh on your shoulder, and Brittany grinds back up into you, her back coming off the mattress with each thrust, with a chorus of _Santana god don't stop fuck yeah right there please Santana Santana_ streaming out of her mouth.

You pump your hips into hers even harder, pressing forward and stretching Brittany's leg on your shoulder forward until your forehead is almost touching hers. Brittany looks up at you, mouth open and breath hot against your lips, blue eyes staring into your brown ones with her pupils blown open. You roll your hips downwards and she snaps with a cry, her eyes slamming shut as she moans, _"Santana!"_ You grind your centers together, rubbing wetly and slowly and drawing out Brittany's orgasm until her thigh is trembling on your shoulder.

Energy saps out of you just as Brittany's thigh drops from your shoulder and you fall onto Brittany's heaving chest. Brittany just chuckles out of breath, wrapping her arms around your back.

"That," you pant out, "has to be the best round we've done so far."

Brittany's chest rumbles with her giggle and she strokes your hair as you press your ear against her chest. "Definitely."

"I can't feel my legs."

"You? My thighs are _still_ shaking." You can feel Brittany's hips still twitching and you laugh.

"Okay, but you weren't the one being lifted into the air."

Brittany swats at your shoulder. "Don't complain."

"Definitely not complaining, trust me. It was… _so hot,_ " you confess in a whisper and she laughs and embraces you tighter. "But I have to say, the way you were dancing with me earlier was even _hotter._ "

Brittany laughs, trailing a hand down your spine. "I loved dancing with you. You were," her finger trails at the base of your spine, "so sexy."

Goosebumps rise on your skin and, impossibly, you feel yourself getting turned on _again._ "Yeah?"

"Totally," Brittany murmurs. "The way you let me lead you, the way you were _moving_ , that _song._ " Brittany shifts beneath you. " _So_ so sexy."

You lift your head from Brittany's chest to stare at her and her eyes have that hungry look in them again, her blue eyes turning navydark, and she flips you onto your back and descends onto your mouth and kisses you into the night.


	4. Game 25 of 162

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you wanna come over today and watch the game at my place?” Brittany asks, hand still curled around your jaw and thumb brushing over your cheek. “I usually have the guys over for Sunday games.” Your eyes drift over to your hallway, eyeing your home office for a second, and Brittany tracks your gaze. “Work?”
> 
> You look back at Brittany, her lips drawn up in a soft smile, and you shake your head, pushing the image of your laptop and the stack of papers waiting on your desk away. “No, work can wait. A Sunday with you sounds better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The baseball scenes should move a little faster from here on out as the story starts to pick up. On my Tumblr, kurzelx, I’ve also tagged some additional reference material of the real-life games I reference and some of the big game moments throughout the story, as well as some aesthetics of Dodgers Stadium. This chapter was going to be a little longer, but I decided to end it a scene early so I can get the chapter out quicker. As always, thank you to everyone who reviews. Onto the chapter!

You’ve always been one to sleep in until recently.

You blink your eyes open and you can tell by the grogginess lingering in your periphery and the slight thudding ache in your head that it’s still early. A quick glance out of your bedroom window confirms that it’s sometime before dawn, the sky still that muted dark gray color before the sun starts bleeding through the horizon.

You’re usually never up this early but in the past few weeks, well, you just can’t help it.

Brittany’s next to you, still asleep, blonde hair spread messily across the pillow. Her eyelashes flutter a little bit against her cheekbones as she passes through a dream and you trail your eyes over the curves and lines of her face, the dip of her brows, the cut of her jaw, the way her lips are lifted just slightly almost as if she’s smiling in her sleep. Brittany’s arm is outstretched, almost dead weight on top of you, and her hand is curled around your waist. You’ve found that Brittany is just as tactile asleep as she is awake—she always finds a way to touch you, to be near you, to tangle your limbs together. Your thigh is hitched above her hip and her foot is hooked around your calf and her fingers twitch occasionally against your the skin of your hips.

You shift closer to Brittany and, instantly, you feel her accommodate you in her sleep instinctively, her arm shifting to curl more securely around your back and hold you closer. You tuck your head into the crook of her neck, closing your eyes and pressing your lips against her collarbone. You know you can lull back to sleep as your breath syncs with the rise and fall of her chest in a steady rhythm, but the hollowness in your stomach tugs at you and you figure you might as well get the day started early and make breakfast for you two. 

You sigh against Brittany’s skin, the feel of your breath on her skin making her mumble incoherently, her fingers trailing up your spine and her foot sliding up your calf as she shifts in her sleep, and you slowly untangle yourself from Brittany’s embrace. You immediately miss her warmth as you stand from the bed, rolling your shoulders as you stretch out, feeling your bones ache and soreness linger tightly in your thighs and abdomen. You gaze back at Brittany and see that she’s shifted towards your side where it’s still warm, her fingers clutched into the sheets and her brow slightly furrowed as she sleeps on, undisturbed.

You roll your head on your shoulders as you tug a fresh pair of underwear on and you look around for something to wear over and, with a yawn, you eye Brittany’s white Dodgers jersey slung over the armchair in your room. You slip the jersey on, fingers trailing over the _PIERCE_ letters on the back as you do so, and button the first few buttons before leaving the rest undone. You shuffle into the kitchen as you run your fingers through your hair and slowly start in on breakfast.

Your mind trails off to last night as you whip together some eggs and start up a pot of coffee and a small smile comes across your lips. You sigh as you almost float to the pantry, bringing out a loaf of bread. You can’t get over the sight of Brittany and how she looked under the pulsing lights of the club, flashes of neon blinking onto her skin, her eyes singularly focused on yours, the intoxicating feel of her body heat. You run a hand up the back of your neck absently, your skin tingling, as you recall the way she moved with you, the skilled way her hands ran over your body, the way you both fell into rhythm and the sounds faded from around you until it was just the heavy thudding of your heartbeat in your ears as your hips met hers.

It’s been a whirlwind few weeks with work and with baseball and with Brittany so you haven’t really had time to be _still_ in ages. Your hands move on autopilot as you whisk together some french toast and scramble eggs together in another pan. Things feel different now that you and Brittany are official, even though you were already dating for a few months before she officially asked you to be hers, and last night only helped solidify the solid weight in your chest as you think of Brittany as your __girlfriend.__ Something to do with the way Brittany’s arm curled possessively around your shoulders, how she leaned in close whenever she said something to you, the way she wordlessly refilled your drink throughout the night, and being out with everyone with her arm in yours made it feel more… real. The newness of being in a relationship, of being with _Brittany_ , has still yet to fade and last night made it settle into something heavier altogether, your stomach fluttering.

The rest of the night comes back to you in flashes of sweat and sex, but in the middle of your recollection, you fuzzily remember a conversation with Tina and her words filter into your head about _making sure you know what you’re getting into._ Her words vaguely registered in the midst of the night, but now, as the sun starts to creep into the sky and with your head a little clearer, you shake your head at her concern. Although you admit you were a bit hesitant at first about Brittany’s fervor for baseball and it did take you a little bit of an adjustment period, you find yourself actually enjoying the sport as you learn more about it. 

The other day, you even downloaded an app that Brittany is constantly refreshing on her phone for baseball news and you’ve found yourself thumbing through the notifications here and there and learning about the individual players and the team statistics. It’s also hard not to get wrapped up in the sport with how Brittany’s eyes light up at the mention of it and the pleased look she gives you when you get little things right, like the names of every day players on the team or certain plays in the game, makes the sport worth it alone.

Arms curling around your waist interrupt your thoughts and your lips spread into a full smile.

“Mm, good morning. Looks good,” Brittany murmurs into your ear and you lean back into her arms, squeezing at her forearms around your waist with one hand as your other hand flips the french toast on the stove.

“Good morning,” you greet back softly, “And it’s just about finished so you won’t have to wait too long.” Brittany drops a kiss onto your shoulder before leaning her chin on top of it. You press your cheek against hers.

“I wasn’t talking about the food, but sure, that looks good too,” Brittany teases, nipping at your throat. You giggle at the sensation, scrunching up your shoulder to shield your neck, but Brittany just tightens her hold on your waist to keep you still.

“Britt,” you laugh as she pecks at your neck and all over your cheeks and you struggle to turn the stove off.

“I really like waking up and seeing you in _this_ ,” Brittany trails her fingers over the fabric of your jersey, tugging a little bit at the hem.

You giggle as you put your plates together and swat at her arms. You lean to the side to get a glimpse of her behind you and Brittany’s eyes are still slightly hooded from sleep, but her lips are teasing a smirk and her blue eyes are twinkling at you. You point at the direction of the breakfast bar. “Go. Sit.”

Brittany’s eyebrows shoot up at the command and you squint at her a little before she nods seriously. “Yes, ma’am.” She gives you a little mock salute and you roll your eyes playfully at her _dorkiness_ before she skips onto one of your bar stools.

You laugh as you turn with both of your plates in hand and see her outfit, even as the sight makes your stomach twist pleasantly. Brittany’s dressed entirely in your clothes, one of your UCLA t-shirts riding too small on her torso leaving an inch of skin around her waist and a pair of your UCLA sweatpants that drape just above her ankles.

“Britt, my clothes do _not_ fit you,” you say as you place your plates at the breakfast bar before grabbing a pair of mugs for your coffees.

“ _Whaaat?_ They totally fit!” Brittany protests and when you whirl around from pouring coffee, she’s tugging at the bottom of your UCLA shirt but it just rides back up insistently.

You arch an eyebrow at her as you come around to take a seat in the bar stool next to her with your coffees in hand. “How’s your ankles?” You tease.

Brittany leans over to glance downwards and kicks her legs out a little bit. She glances back at you. “Okay, fine, your clothes are a little short, because, well, you’re just such a _shaw-ty_ ,” she drawls out the word with a terrible accent that makes you burst out in a laugh. Brittany grins at you before continuing, leaning in close and placing a hand on the back of your bar stool, “But they’re totally mine now.”

You hold her eye contact with a grin still on your lips. “Oh? Is that so?”

Brittany nods. “It’s only fair since, well, you’ve commandeered my jersey.” She trails her eyes downwards and reaches out to part your jersey where it’s still unbuttoned, draping over your waist, and Brittany exposes more of your thighs as she parts the fabric. Even in the cold early morning, you feel warm as her gaze settles hotly on your uncovered legs and her fingers stay lingering near your inner thighs. Brittany glances back up at you through her eyelashes. “I’m going to need you to stay in this all day and not wear pants, okay?”

You throw your head back in a laugh and shove at her shoulder playfully. “You know, I’m beginning to think you have a __thing__ for me and this jersey.”

Brittany grins widely and waggles her eyebrows at you. “Guilty as charged.”

You shake your head with a grin. _God._ “Eat your food.”

Brittany laughs, leaning in close to kiss your cheek swiftly before settling back into her chair. “Thanks for making breakfast, babe. I’m _starving._ ” 

You chuckle a little at how Brittany’s eyes roll back into her head with a groan as she takes a bite of the french toast. “I bet. My thighs are so sore from last night.”

Brittany stops mid-bite to shoot you a smug look. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” you nod slowly before teasing, “From the dancing, of course.”

Brittany groans as you giggle and she points her fork at you. “Way to make a girl feel good about herself.”

You laugh as Brittany pouts and you can’t resist kissing it away and you pull away with a soft _plop_. “You don’t need any reassurance in that department.”

The pleased blush and grin you get in return from Brittany makes affection rush through your chest and you give her one last kiss before sitting back and digging into your plate.

“Last night was so much fun, though,” Brittany mentions around a mouthful of eggs, covering her mouth with one hand.

You hum your agreement as you cut into your french toast. “I was just thinking the same thing. It was great to have everyone together.”

Brittany lifts her mug of coffee with both hands, cradling it near her mouth. Her blue eyes are a little brighter now with some food in her system and the more she wakes, the silver flecks dotting blue more vibrant, as she peers at you over her mug. “We should totally do it again.”

“Totally,” you agree with a nod. “Speaking of which, how long have Tina and Mike been together?”

Brittany scrunches up her face in thought. “Five years? Maybe?”

“You’ve known Mike for that long?”

“Yeah, and he met Tina around the same time and they’ve been together ever since.”

You hum. “How are they together?”

Brittany cocks her head. “What do you mean?”

You hesitate. “Well, last night, Tina was mentioning something about a rough patch with the baseball stuff.”

Brittany’s eyebrows raise. “She said something to you?”

“Yeah, before we left last night when I was in the bathroom. It was just in passing as I was heading out.”

Brittany takes a sip of her coffee before shrugging. “Well, I know that she only went to maybe one, two games maximum with Mike when she found out. And, you know, Mike’s like me and all that when it comes with the team. I think they did go through a rough patch at one point over it, ‘cause, well, Tina never really got into it. They worked through it, from what I know, but Tina’s strictly off-limits with the whole baseball thing and I know it bums Mike out a little, but it’s what works for them.”

You sit back a little in your chair. “Huh.”

Brittany makes a noise in agreement but then she perks up and beams at you. “But that’s why _I’m_ the luckiest girl in the world because I have _you_ and you’re not like that.”

You grin back at her, even as her words settle a little uneasily. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

“We can both be the lucky ones. And then we can buy lottery tickets because we’re both so lucky and make everyone jealous when we win a gazillion dollars because of how lucky we both are.” Brittany leans towards you, her eyes twinkling, and you laugh and say, “Makes sense,” against her lips, as you close the distance.

You kiss for a few soft, lingering moments, Brittany’s hand coming up to curl around your jaw and her thumb rubbing slow circles on your jawline. Brittany draws back, placing a few short pecks on your lips for good measure, before pulling away.

“Did you wanna come over today and watch the game at my place?” Brittany asks, hand still curled around your jaw and thumb brushing over your cheek. “I usually have the guys over for Sunday games.” Your eyes drift over to your hallway, eyeing your home office for a second, and Brittany tracks your gaze. “Work?”

You look back at Brittany, her lips drawn up in a soft smile, and you shake your head, pushing the image of your laptop and the stack of papers waiting on your desk away. “No, work can wait. A Sunday with you sounds better.”

Brittany beams at your response and jumps to her feet, lacing her fingers with yours and tugging you off your stool. “Okay. Let’s go. Time for second breakfast.”

You laugh as you let her pull you along down towards your hallway, Brittany walking backwards to keep her eyes on yours. “What’s second breakfast?”

Brittany smirks. “You.”

You groan at the line, even as your skin starts to buzz in response. You shake your head in disbelief, biting down your grin, as she leads you back towards your bedroom. “How is that line even _working_ on me right now?”

Brittany laughs throatily before spinning you towards your bed, the back of your knees hitting your mattress as you fall back onto it. You watch as Brittany crawls over you, her eyes darkening, smirk still on her lips. “Just go with it.”

/

“Babe?” You call out down the hallway of Brittany’s apartment later that day, your phone in your hands. “Can I invite Quinn and Sam over for tonight?”

“Sure! The more, the merrier!” Brittany’s muffled response comes back from somewhere in her bedroom and you nod absently, tapping away at your phone.

When you finish texting Quinn and look up, Brittany’s striding out of her bedroom, ripped jeans on and a blue Dodgers shirt with the number _22_ under the logo stretched tightly across her chest, with what is definitely the largest cat you’ve ever seen in her arms.

“I figure it’s time you guys officially met. This is Lord Tubbington, San,” Brittany says with a bright grin, hefting up the cat in her arms with a small grunt. The cat stares at you with an expression that almost looks bored.

You scratch your nose, glancing down at the cat, who’s still staring at you unimpressed, and back to Brittany, an expectant grin on her face. “Babe… He’s so…” You trail off.

Brittany beams brighter at you. “Adorable?”

“Fat,” you finish flatly.

Brittany scoffs, bringing up the cat in her arms so she can nuzzle her nose in the cat’s expansive tummy. “He’s just big-boned, isn’t that right, Lord T?” Brittany says in a sweet voice and you swear the cat _glares_ at you.

“He’s looking at me like he wants to kill me, Britt,” you say as you wrinkle your nose, glaring back playfully at the cat.

“He’s probably just jealous that I’m spending all my time with you.” Brittany shuffles closer to you. “Give him a pet.”

You and the cat share matching expressions of disdain. “No thanks.”

Brittany gives you that pout that always makes your resolve instantly crumble and you’re starting to think that Brittany’s fully aware of the effect it has on you. “Give him a pet, San,” Brittany repeats, ducking her head to flutter her eyelashes at you.

You let out a loud exhale as you roll your eyes playfully and dig your fingers into the fur on the cat’s tummy. Lord Tubbington lets out a soft mewl in response and you scratch a little harder, your lips quirking up slightly. He is kind of cute, even if the cat is obscenely fat.

When you look back up at Brittany, she’s grinning at you and presses into you with the cat still in her arms. “Look at my favorites getting along!”

You glance down at Lord Tubbington, who starts to squirm with being smushed between you and Brittany, and laugh. “Britt, baby, I think he wants to be set down.”

Brittany pulls back, her grin turning sheepish, as she places one last kiss on Lord Tubbington’s stomach before dropping him. The cat makes a loud _thud_ as his paws hit the ground and the floor almost shakes with the impact. You shake your head, chuckling, as you follow Brittany out into the living room.

“So I brought some appetizers over and got a case of that beer you like,” you say as you stride towards the kitchen, opening the fridge to grab a beer for you and Brittany.

Brittany is hot on your heels, curling her arms around your waist as you bend over, pressing her body flush against yours. You shoot her a sly look over your shoulder as you grab two bottles and straighten back up and around in her arms.

Brittany’s blue eyes are smoldering at you as she glances down at you with half-hooded eyes and a smile teasing her lips. “Best girlfriend ever,” Brittany murmurs and you laugh because you know what that look means but it took you both hours to get out of your bed this morning and everyone’s due to come over in a few minutes. You push one of the beer bottles against Brittany’s chest softly, the cold glass making Brittany hiss as it makes contact with her shirt.

“Britt,” you warn with an eyebrow arched, “We do _not_ have time.”

Brittany grabs the bottle from your hand and you hold onto it, giving it a little tug of resistance, before letting go. She gives you a cheeky grin as she digs in her drawers for a bottle opener and quickly snaps off the caps off of your bottles. “Wanna bet?”

The doorbell answers for you and you give Brittany a look. She laughs, dropping a quick kiss onto your lips before squeezing at your hip. “Saved by the bell,” Brittany winks at you and you roll your eyes playfully at her. “I’ll get that. Mind setting out the appetizers?”

You nod, giving Brittany a quick swat on her backside as she turns, and you delight in the squeak she lets out as she walks away. You set out the plates of appetizers, taking a few trays out of the oven, and wander over with your beer in hand to the front door to greet everyone with Brittany.

It feels so natural to take your place at Brittany’s side, her arm automatically drawing around your waist to press her palm warmly at the small of your back, and you greet everyone with enthusiastic _hellos_ and hugs as Brittany’s friends start drifting in. Finn walks in with a dopey grin and stretches his arms wide enough to envelop both of you in a hug and you let out a laugh in surprise. Jake strolls in afterwards with a high five to Brittany but then his eyes zero in on you and widen. Before he can take a step towards you, Brittany’s hand juts out and pushes at him square in the chest. “Nope. Keep it moving, Puckerman.”

Your cheeks feel warm as Jake laughs and holds his hands up in defense, walking into Brittany’s apartment, and Mike follows suit (you notice almost glaringly without Tina) wheeling Artie in, and you both greet the two with pleasantries.

Then, Quinn’s at the door with Sam, giving you a surprised look that has a little bit of pride in it.

“Hey hun,” Brittany greets Quinn and gives her a quick air kiss on the cheek, “Good to see you guys again.” 

Quinn smiles back at Brittany, squeezing at her forearm, as she greets her before turning to you and drawing you into a hug. “Look at you,” Quinn whispers excitedly in your ear and you laugh before she lets you go. 

Sam’s standing there grinning at both of you. He holds up a bottle of wine. “Thanks for having us over. We brought this for you, Britt.”

Brittany squeezes at your back, prompting you to take it instead, and you shoot her a shy smile as you reach out and take the bottle from Sam. “Thanks, Sam.”

Quinn gives you an excited look as she and Sam pass by you and Brittany and you hear Sam exclaim, “Whoa, this place is awesome!”, behind you and you shake your head with a grin.

Brittany giggles as she draws you in close. “Thanks for doing all this, San.” Brittany’s eyes are shining bright blue with unabashed adoration, and the smile on her face makes your stomach flutter.

“Of course,” you say simply before leaning up on your toes and kissing her warmly, your heart squeezing in your chest as you brush your lips against hers.

/

You’re all crowded around Brittany’s huge sectional couch, the Dodgers game on Brittany’s flatscreen as the Dodgers take on the Giants at AT&T Park. Your thigh is pressing into Brittany’s next to you, and her arm is slung around the back of the couch and above your shoulders as she sits against the couch’s armrest.

 _“Strike!”_ The ump on-screen calls and everyone groans. Half-inning’s over. The Dodgers are currently losing, 1-0.

“Man, _fuck_ the Giants,” Jake spits out as the game cuts to commercial and the group grumbles their agreement.

“I hate losing in general, but I hate losing even more when it’s to the Giants,” Brittany grouches. You tilt your head at her and she fills in for you. “They’re our rivals.”

“If I have to hear that they won three rings in five years one more time from some idiot Giants fan at the stadium, I’m going to flip,” Mike complains.

“Hey, at least, Bumgarner is out for the season on that dirt bike injury,” Finn says with a grin. Artie whoops beside him and they high five.

“Darn. I was looking forward to watching Puig light him up again at Dodgers Stadium this year,” Brittany jokes.

“Man, now _that_ was awesome,” Sam grins, his arm thrown around Quinn’s shoulders, and you and Quinn share an amused look.

During commercials, the network shows the league standings and Brittany grumbles as she catches the Dodgers’ record.

“Okay, I know it’s still early in the season, but I _hate_ that we’re playing under .500,” Brittany complains.

Mike takes a sip of his beer. “Gotta start breaking out the lucky shirt when you go to the games, Britt.”

“I’ve _been_ wearing the lucky shirt! I’m wearing it right now! And we still can’t hit!” Brittany huffs and throws her hands up in exaggeration, falling into your side dramatically.

The group bursts out into laughter and you giggle and trail a hand over Brittany’s hair as she hides her face into your arm. “There there, babe, they’ll pull through,” you coo soothingly, and Brittany just sighs dramatically as she straightens.

“Speaking of going to the games, Britt, you still not selling those tickets?” Sam asks. 

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Excuse him, he’s persistent.”

Brittany chuckles, shaking her head as she takes a sip of her beer. “Keep trying, bud.” 

The group falls into their own side conversations and you take a sip from the beer you’re resting on your thigh. The game cuts back from commercial and shows a couple stats on some of the Dodgers players. One player in particular catches your eye as you recall seeing his name in a recent article you read on the team on your newly downloaded app.

“Hey, I heard that Bellinger guy is pretty good,” you mention to Brittany and her eyes light up. 

“Yeah, he’s our number one prospect and we just called him up. He’s gonna be _huge_ for us this year. I saw him during spring training,” Brittany gushes.

You nod. “His batting average was above .300 in the minors, right?”

Brittany’s eyes widen and her lips stretch in an smile. “Wow,” she nudges your shoulder with hers, “Check you out.”

You preen a little at the impressed look on Brittany’s face and lift a shoulder nonchalantly. “Been doing some reading.”

Brittany bites into her lip, smiling as she shakes her head slightly. “Have I mentioned you’re the best girlfriend ever?”

“Maybe once or twice today,” you tease, leaning in to kiss her cheek, before plucking her empty beer bottle from her hands. “Another?”

Brittany nods. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll go with you, S. I need another too,” Quinn says, standing up.

You and Quinn wander over to the kitchen and grab fresh bottles from the fridge. Quinn snaps the cap off her bottle before handing you the bottle opener and leans against the breakfast bar. You pop off your own bottle cap and take a long pull of your beer, leaning against the bar next to her.

“So,” Quinn starts, glancing at you, “This is nice. Last night, too.”

“Yeah?” You say with the barest hint of nerves. This is the first time in ages that Quinn’s seen you have a steady girlfriend and one that you actually want to bring around. You’re nervous for your best friend’s reaction because, well, you want her to like Brittany as much as you do.

But Quinn being your closest friend for years means that she catches the trepidation in your voice and she laughs at you a little. “Yeah, S,” she leans in and says lowly, “Brittany’s _great._ Seriously. I like her a lot.”

You glance over at Brittany in the living room, your cheeks dimpling as you grin. Brittany’s standing in anticipation of the pitch on-screen, slightly bouncing on her heels and grabbing at Mike’s forearm as he’s halfway standing with her. The group then bursts into a collective groan as the batter hits it onto the ground, ending the inning for the Dodgers. You watch as Mike says something to Brittany and Brittany throws her head back in a laugh, her long blonde hair trailing down her back and grin bright as she jokes back.

“Me too,” you agree. 

Quinn chuckles as she follows your gaze, but she just clinks her bottle against yours and you both take quiet sips of your beers and watch the group in the living room.

Brittany must feel your eyes on her because she turns around and you feel your breath catch as your eyes lock from across the room. Brittany’s blue eyes are twinkling at you and you watch as her lips stretch in a wide smile that you feel like is _justforyou_ because you’ve never seen her smile that way with anyone else and your heart swells and swells.

Quinn chuckles again. “C’mon, let’s get you back to her.”

You grab the bottles of beer and walk back over to the living room, stepping close to Brittany. “Here you go, Britt,” you say softly, handing Brittany her beer. Brittany beams at you, trailing her fingers along yours as she takes the bottle from your hand.

“Thank you,” Brittany murmurs, squeezing at your hand, and you just smile in return. 

Brittany takes a seat back on the couch and you go to follow and sit next to her, but then her arm is curling around your waist and you let out a squeak as Brittany tugs you onto her lap.

“Brittany!” You laugh, balancing your bottle so beer doesn’t slosh onto your hand.

“You’re being way too cute today, I can’t help it,” Brittany says against your skin, her nose nudging up your neck, and when you shiver in response, you can feel Brittany’s smile against your neck. You rest your back against the armrest to get a better view of the game and drape an arm over Brittany’s shoulders to curl a hand into her hair. 

Brittany grins at you, dropping a kiss onto your shoulder, before setting a warm palm on your thigh and running over it in absent motions as she turns her attention back to the screen. 

You settle more comfortably in Brittany’s lap, your skin buzzing and stomach fluttering.

The Dodgers end up losing, but the whole weekend feels like a win to you.

/

****Game 25 of 162** **

Brittany lets out a string of filthy curses that gets a couple looks from the fans walking up the rows to the exit. 

You chuckle, running your palm over her back. “We still have two innings to go.”

Brittany gives you a look. “We’re losing to the _Phillies.”_

You scrunch your face up, because she has a point. Even you know that the Phillies are a team that usually loses close to a hundred games a season.

The Dodgers are doing pretty badly in this game and so far in the season. The team is middling around .500 for their season record and behind in the division standings by three games. This game has been particularly terrible as the team has failed to collect any hits, looking miserable at the plate as the line-up strikes out and hits balls onto the ground. 

The only runs the Dodgers have scored have been home runs—one in the first inning that the Phillies answered with four runs of their own and a significant one in the seventh inning by Cody Bellinger, the Dodgers’ highly anticipated prospect and newly called up to the majors, who hit his first major league home run.

However, the crowd quickly deflated as the Phillies answered back with the first batter up in the following inning with a home run of their own and the crowd started to file out to the exits. The scoreboard reads 5-2, Dodgers losing to the Phillies, bottom of the 8th inning.

“This is supposed to be _the_ season,” Brittany whines next to you, looking so miserable that you almost want to laugh at how adorable she looks. “This is supposed to be _the_ year.”

“When was the last time the Dodgers won it all?”

Brittany deflates even further, shoulders sinking and crossing her arms. “1988.”

You do the math in your head. “That’s… 29 years?”

Brittany groans. “Yup. 29 long years. The longest championship drought for the Dodgers. We haven’t been back to the World Series since.” Brittany shakes her head, her eyes turning fiery. “Which, yeah, the Cubs won last year and ended a 100 year drought and the Red Sox broke their curse of over 80 years, so I know 29 years isn’t really that long in comparison. But we were a winning team when we came to L.A. and then we just stopped. Those teams at least were always expected to lose until they didn’t. We have the best pitcher of this generation, we have the highest payroll in all of baseball, we’ve gone to the playoffs for four years in a row, and we still have nothing to show for it. I’ve never seen them win in my lifetime.”

Before, it was a little funny how Brittany was moping, but now, Brittany looks genuinely morose about the Dodgers, eyes turning sad and her body shrinking into herself, and you let out a sympathetic noise.

A groan echoes through what’s left of the crowd as the Dodgers player up to bat, with the Dodgers down to their last out for the half inning, swings mightily but through air, missing the ball entirely as the umpire calls out the third strike, sending the game into its final inning.

The crowd starts to filter out, the rows emptying, and you look around at the fans streaming to the exits, heads hung low, and look back to Brittany, who’s slouching so far in her seat that her chin is brushing against her chest.

“That’s it, come on, get up,” you stand, tugging at Brittany’s arm. “We’re gonna cheer them on until the very last out. It’s not over ’til it’s over.”

Brittany pouts as she reluctantly stands with you. The teams switch positions on the field for the top of the 9th inning, the Dodgers pitcher taking the mound and the Dodgers players taking the field. The organist for the stadium plays a catchy set of notes to help energize what’s left of the home crowd and you cheer, “Charge!”, in response, pumping your fist in time. 

The organist plays the tune again, and you nudge Brittany’s shoulder to get her to join in. Brittany gives a half-hearted “Charge!”, lifting her fist an inch. The pout hasn’t left her lips so you turn around, throwing your hands up to the rows behind you to rile up the remaining crowd. The organist repeats the tune again and this time, you get a few others to join you as you yell, “Charge!”, and Brittany’s lips start to quirk up.

You’re determined to see this game all the way through and put the smile back on Brittany’s face. You clap and whistle loudly when the Dodgers pitcher induces a groundout for the first Phillies batter, you whoop when a deep fly ball makes its way safely into a Dodgers outfielder’s glove, and by the time that second out is recorded, Brittany is clapping along with you, her shoulders lifting.

You turn back around to the remaining crowd in your section, cupping your mouth. “ _Let’s go, Dod-gers, let’s go!_ ” You chant and you hear Brittany give a surprised laugh at how loudly you yell.

The small crowd is getting riled up with you, answering back with a, _“Let’s go, Dod-gers, let's go!”_ , and you yell even louder, repeating the chant. You nudge Brittany again and she rolls her eyes playfully, shaking her head a little, as she joins you in the chant, her voice clear and ringing true. 

_“Strike three! You’re out!”_

The Dodgers pitcher pumps his fist, getting a strikeout, and you holler with the crowd, bringing your hands together in applause as the half-inning ends and the game goes into the bottom of the 9th inning. Brittany’s got a grin on her face now and you beam back at her as she whistles.

“We’re gonna walk this off, alright?” You say confidently to Brittany, grabbing her biceps and turning her to face you. You learned recently that the bottom of the 9th inning isn’t always played in every game; it’s only when the home team is losing that they get those three extra at-bats in the last half-inning and a chance to walk the game off, in which, if they score a winning run, the game ends without the visiting team getting the chance to score. Brittany’s told you that it’s one of the most exciting ways a baseball game can ever end and you have a gut feeling that you’re about to witness one tonight.

The confidence in your voice as if you’re willing the outcome of this game into existence has its effect on Brittany and her shoulders straighten as she looks you dead in the eye and gives you a nod. “We’re gonna walk this off,” Brittany repeats firmly.

The Dodgers player up to bat, Yasiel Puig, takes his stance in the batter’s box and waits for the pitch. The ball whizzes into the catcher’s glove.

_“Strike one!"_

Brittany cups her mouth and yells, “Let’s go, Puig!”

The next pitch comes and it’s outside the zone for a ball. The count goes to 1-1, one ball and one strike.

You join Brittany in clapping rhythmically, getting the crowd to answer back in response. The cheers get louder as Puig gears up for the next pitch.

Another ball. The crowd cheers as the count goes 2-1, two balls and one strike.

“He’s doing good up there. He’s seeing the ball well,” Brittany comments, eyes zoned in on the batter.

The next pitch comes.

 _Another_ ball. The crowd starts to get louder in anticipation as the count goes 3-1, three balls and one strike. If the pitcher throws another pitch outside of the strike zone, Puig will have earned a walk and get to go to first base and the Dodgers will have a man on first with no outs.

Puig takes a hefty swing on the next pitch but comes up empty and the crowd exhales their collectively held breath. The count goes full at 3-2, three balls and two strikes, a sign of how hard Puig’s worked during this at-bat as a batter, and you can see the sweat start to bead on his temple as he takes a couple of shaky exhales.

You grip at Brittany’s forearm as the stadium goes quiet, waiting for the next pitch.

Then—

_Crack!_

The crowd roars as the sound of the bat colliding with the ball makes a resounding _boom_ , a clear no-doubter as the ball hurtles through the air, and you jump in place, your voice going hoarse with how hard you’re screaming as the ball makes its way into the stands.

Brittany’s jumping with you, a triumphant fist raised in the air as she screams, and Dodgers Stadium has come back to life as Puig rounds the bases.

You’re high-fiving the people next to you and Brittany’s doing the same, climbing onto her seat to reach fans a couple rows back to give them a high five, and the crowd is full of exhilarated faces and still cheering when the next Dodgers player, Cody Bellinger, the rookie, steps up to the plate.

You’re barely turning around from high-giving someone, still mid-cheer, the rest of the crowd starting to settle back in to watch Bellinger’s at-bat, when the next pitch comes and—

_Crack!_

You halfway fall over, clutching at Brittany’s arm and Brittany’s wrapping her arms around your waist to hold you up and you don’t even realizing you’re still screaming because this ball __also__ makes its way out into the stands and the stadium vibrates under your feet.

“BACK TO BACK HOME RUNS! BACK TO _BACK!_ ” Brittany is screaming in your ear, shaking your shoulders, and you’re screaming at the top of your lungs and the crowd is roaring with you.

The crowd has yet to quiet down, the energy frantic as the stadium reels, and suddenly, the Dodgers are only down one run with no outs.

“Let’s go!” You yell and Brittany is right there with you, hands gripping your shoulders tightly, the crowd the loudest it’s been all game.

The crowd roars in cheers as the coach replaces the upcoming batter with a pinch hitter, and you thunder your hands together as you recognize the red-headed bearded player coming up to bat. The fact that the coach has him pinch hitting, coming off the bench and hitting for the first time in the whole game, means that the stakes are high and that the team wants to _win_. And if anyone is going to put them in the position to do so, it’s Justin Turner, the Dodgers’ best hitter and arguably one of the best hitters in the entire league.

The first pitch lands resolutely in the catcher’s glove.

_“Strike one!”_

“Come on, come on, come on,” Brittany mutters next to you. The stadium goes silent and you hear everyone around you inhale.

The pitcher winds up, extending his arm upwards, and you watch as he hurls the ball with a grunt. In the same instant, Turner is kicking his leg out, bracing his foot against the dirt as he takes a mighty swing and—

_CRACK!_

For a second, it’s so quiet that your ears almost ache with the silence as the ball arcs through the air.

And then. Impossibly. Unbelievably.

The ball tumbles over the fence and into the stands.

You don’t realize you’ve actually fallen over this time until your legs hit the ground and you’re bracing your hand against your seat. You don’t realize you’re screaming because you can’t even _hear_ yourself because the stadium has descended into pandemonium, the floor is rocking underneath you and you can see the rows of seats shake in front of you, and Brittany is tugging you back up and your hearing adjusts and the air is almost thick with noise and you can feel the roar vibrating through your chest and the crowd has gone absolutely _insane._

“ _BACK TO BACK TO_ BACK!” Brittany is screaming into your face, over and over again, and you’re screaming with her and then you’re slapping your hands onto the hands of strangers with so much force that your hand starts to ache and then you’re jumping with Brittany in place, hands gripping each other, and you don’t know who’s holding up who because you feel like you can’t even _stand_ and you’ve never known anything like this.

The scoreboard reads 5-5, Dodgers and Phillies tied. Still no outs.

The crowd hasn’t stopped cheering and the energy is pouring out of every single person in the stadium. Even the entire Dodgers dugout is pressed up against the railing, the team standing and hollering and almost climbing over the railing separating the dugout and the field. The back-to-back-to- _back_ home runs energize the batters that come up to bat and start a rally as the Dodgers rack up a single and then another single and now the team has a man on first and and a man on second base in scoring position with two outs.

Down to their final out, Dodgers veteran Adrian Gonzalez comes up to bat, and the crowd screams with every pitch and every swing until, _finally_ , the bat connects, the ball dribbling on the ground towards a diving Phillies infielder.

The ball slips past the infielder and onto outfield grass and the Dodgers player on second base is running home to beat the throw and the second his foot hits home plate, the entire team is launching over the railing, swarming out of the dugout and onto the field and crowding together in a mosh of bodies. 

You feel your vision almost blur out at the edges at how hard you’re screaming and you faintly register Brittany screaming along with you.

The scoreboard reads 6-5, Dodgers.

It’s a walk-off win and the greatest singular event you’ve ever witnessed.

/

Your back crashes into the wall of your apartment and you moan against Brittany’s lips as her teeth bite into your bottom lip.

Your hands are flying over Brittany’s jersey, fingers rapidly undoing the buttons, as your eyes roll back in your head when Brittany’s tongue swipes into your mouth. You’re kissing frantically and hotly, a mess of teeth and lips, your hips rolling as Brittany wedges her thigh in between yours and cries out into your mouth.

You need to touch her, you need to _feel_ her, and you pull away with a growl, grabbing the lapels of Brittany’s jersey and ripping it apart. Buttons fly everywhere and you pull your own shirt off and you both surge back together, lips crashing against each other’s, and you groan loudly at the feel of her skin on yours. Heat is scorching through you as your stomach draws tight and Brittany’s hands are everywhere. Your heart is beating a hundred miles an hour and your skin feels like it’s about to vibrate off of your bones with the amount of adrenaline still rushing through your veins from the game and the pure _want_ pumping through you and settling hotly between your legs.

You and Brittany have barely been able to keep your hands off each other since the high of the game’s ending, your hands gripping at each other’s thighs and your mouth against Brittany’s neck, as she sped you both home from the stadium. You both are thrumming with frantic energy from the win and your hands are shaking and your skin is buzzing from how badly you _want_ her.

“Bed,” you pant against her mouth, your eyes squeezing shut as Brittany rolls her thigh harder up into you, the motions rough and fast. Waves of pleasure build in your lower abdomen as the friction hits you _just right_ and you whimper as you dig your nails into Brittany’s back.

Brittany shakes her head, pulling away from your mouth with a gasp, and descends onto your neck. She bites into your throat and you moan loudly, the sound rattling through the air, and you know you’re going to have a bruise there in the morning. “Too far,” Brittany pants into your neck and suddenly, she’s on her knees and tugging your jeans and underwear down and off your legs. 

Your stomach bottoms out as she lifts you by your thighs and you are _not prepared_ for it and the move makes your insides burn. You can only whimper as your legs wrap around her waist and Brittany hitches you up higher in her arms, pressing your center against her toned abdomen.

She presses you against the wall, pressing her abs firmly against your center, and you moan as you rock onto Brittany’s toned stomach, your hands wrapping around Brittany’s shoulders for leverage.

Brittany groans, rolling her body into yours, and you can feel how wet you are from how slickly you’re grinding against Brittany’s stomach, almost slipping against the skin there when you rock your hips down. The sound of your skin wetly slapping against hers makes you hot all over, another scorch of heat flushing through you.

“ _Fuck,_ Santana, you’re so hot,” Brittany moans before she hitches you up higher against the wall, one hand coming between your legs to enter you with two fingers and you both groan as she fills you, your head snapping back against the wall.

You can only hold on for dear life, your nails scratching down Brittany’s back, as Brittany fucks you, using the wall for leverage as she pumps her fingers in and out of you.

“Right there, baby, _god,”_ you moan as Brittany’s fingers curl and hit _that_ _spot_ that makes white sparks burst behind your eyelids. You tug her face back to yours and kiss her sloppily, flicking your tongue inside her mouth, but she’s fucking you so roughly that you have to pull away and throw your head back against the wall as you cry out.

Brittany mouths along your neck, tongue flicking out against your skin, as she hits _that spot_ over and over again with her fingers, her body rolling behind each thrust of her arm, and you can feel your back inch higher and higher up the wall with how hard Brittany’s pumping in and out of you. Sweat’s pooling between your shoulder blades as your back slips against the wall with each thrust and the coil in your stomach tightens and tightens—

“ _Brittany!_ ” You moan out gutturally as you come apart, your nails digging down the length of Brittany’s back and Brittany doesn’t stop thrusting until you’re whimpering out gasps, your thighs shaking around her waist.

Brittany leaves her fingers inside of you as she pulls you off the wall and you tighten your legs around her waist and grip onto her back as she supports you easily with one hand, her fingers squeezing your ass. Brittany’s walking you two backwards and you moan as the motion makes Brittany’s fingers still inside you push and pull with each step.

Suddenly, Brittany’s fingers pull out of you and you whimper at the loss, but then Brittany’s sweeping your dining table clear with her arm, your centerpiece crashing onto the floor, and lowering your back onto the table.

Your stomach swoops as she tugs you hard by the hips so that you skid down to the edge of the table. “Ohmy _god_ ,” you whimper as Brittany hooks one of your calves onto her shoulders and pushes back into you with two fingers.

Your back arches off the table as you gasp and Brittany’s pumping in and out of you again, her pace faster and deeper with the angle as she throws her hips behind the palm of her hand, and your hips rise to meet her every thrust.

You force your eyes open to look at her and Brittany’s biting down into her lip, blue eyes blazing at you, her chest heaving. She reaches out with her free hand and tugs your chin down.

“Look,” Brittany commands and you drop your eyes down to where her fingers have slowly pulled out of you and you groan at the sight of her fingers covered in your desire, shining wetly even in the dark of your apartment. You groan even louder when Brittany spreads her fingers and you can see a trail of slick wetness between her fingers.

“You’re so wet, baby,” Brittany murmurs as she slides her fingers back into you and your eyes roll back as she pushes back into you. Brittany starts up her pace again, hard and quick, and stars are starting to burst again behind your eyelids as pressure builds at the base of your spine. When Brittany brings her free hand to your clit to rub tight circles against the nub of nerves, the pleasure becomes overwhelming and you shudder out a gasp of Brittany’s name as you shatter, your walls squeezing so tightly around Brittany’s fingers that Brittany grunts as she’s barely able to move her fingers in and out of you.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Brittany breathes out as she pulls her fingers out of you slowly, letting out a moan as she stares down at the sight of your wetness that you can feel dripping down your thighs.

You breathe hard as you let the feeling come back into your legs and you find the strength to push off the table and swing your legs onto the floor. “My turn.” You push Brittany backwards, your eyes heavy with intent as you watch blue eyes widen, and you push Brittany down onto your couch in your living room. 

Brittany lands on her back and your hands fly to her jeans, unbuttoning it and ripping her jeans and underwear off her legs in one smooth motion. You mouth along the skin of her inner thigh, sucking a bruise into the junction where her legs meet her center, and Brittany lets out a moan so loud that you’re sure it’s going to wake the neighbors.

You lift a strong muscled thigh onto your shoulder, pressing her other thigh open with your palm, and dip your head to draw a long lick up the length of Brittany’s center and Brittany’s hands fly to your head as she moans.

You press your tongue flat against Brittany’s clit, tongue flicking out in figure-eight motions, as you groan into her wet heat. Brittany’s hips are bucking against your mouth, her fingers curling tightly into your hair, as she pushes your head tighter against her center, almost fucking your mouth.

You dip your mouth lower to thrust your tongue into Brittany and your hips roll against the side of the couch, desperate for friction, as the taste of Brittany’s slick wet heat engulfs your senses and you feel liquid heat pool between your thighs again. You thrust your tongue in and out of her, flicking your tongue upwards with every thrust in, and Brittany moans loudly.

 _“Ugh,_ baby, please don’t stop,” Brittany begs and you replace your tongue with your fingers, pumping your fingers into her as you fill her. Brittany moans even louder, her leg tightening around your shoulders, as you suck her clit into your mouth, tongue swirling around it.

" _I’mgonnacome,”_ Brittany pants, and your fingers pump faster, scissoring inside of her as you wrap your lips around her clit, your tongue working the nub of nerves in a steady rhythm, and you feel Brittany pulse around your fingers as she comes apart with a throaty moan. 

You keep working your mouth against her, her wetness smearing onto your chin and cheeks, the indecent sound of your tongue wetly drawing slick patterns against her clit loud in your ears, and both of her thighs come to wrap around your head, squeezing tightly, as her orgasm rolls into another one, her hips thrashing against your mouth.

 _“Santana!”_ Brittany moans, her thighs shaking against your ears, and you work her down from her second high, your lips and tongue sliding against her center until she’s tugging your shoulder.

Brittany tugs you by the back of your neck to kiss you, moaning into your mouth as her tongue slides against yours and she tastes herself on your tongue. Brittany switches your positions, pressing a knee into the couch as she lays you down onto your back.

“Brittany, I can’t,” you whimper, your nerves feeling shot, as Brittany hooks one of your legs over the top of the couch, spreading you wide open. 

“You’ve got one more in you, baby, I know it,” Brittany rasps out, her gaze burning darkly into you, and the sound of her voice, scratchy with want, hits you deep between your thighs and you groan, giving her a nod.

Brittany locks her eyes with yours as she hovers her mouth over your center and spits, her saliva dripping off the curve of her bottom lip and down onto your wet heat. The sight is so obscene that it makes you choke on a gasp as Brittany spreads your wetness, added with the mix of her spit, with two of her fingers, trailing up and down the length of you. You know you’re _soaked_ and dripping and your eyes roll back into your head at the hot sensation of so much _wetness_.

Brittany throws one of her legs over your thigh, leaning back on her hands behind her for better leverage, as she presses her center against yours, and the slick sound and the wet feel of your center slipping against hers makes you both moan loudly. Brittany pumps her hips slowly, rubbing your clits against each other, before slowly gaining momentum.

Your hips are rising up to meet hers as Brittany pumps her hips faster and faster and each time you meet, pressure builds at your spine and the sensations of pleasure are almost biting as they roll through your body.

You open your eyes halfway open to find the sight of Brittany’s head thrown back in ecstasy, her lip caught between her teeth, a slight sheen of sweat coating her skin, her stomach quivering as her hips roll and crash into yours, and she’s so fucking _hot_ and you groan as a particular thrust slides against your clit in a way that makes the pressure in your spine snap and you come apart for the third time, your back arching off the couch.

Brittany’s following you over the edge as she moans your name throatily, her hips canting up into yours almost jerkily, losing rhythm as she comes apart. She rolls her hips once, twice, before shuddering all over and her hips still as she falls backward onto the couch.

You catch your breath, your legs still twitching and your hips still rolling with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you can hear Brittany’s harsh breathing on the other end of the couch as she does the same.

“Oh my god,” Brittany breathes out. “That was…”

You mumble a noise of agreement in response, your eyes feeling heavy as exhaustion sets into your bones. Your skin is slick with sweat all over and you feel sticky between your legs and freshly fucked into next week.

You have the sense and barely have enough energy to get both of you into a more comfortable position and tug the blanket hanging over the edge of your armrest over both of your bodies before you fall into the blackness of sleep.

/

Your head dips as you doze off and the sudden drop of your chin makes you startle awake.

You’ve barely gotten an hour of sleep, after coming home from the game late the night before and having post-game victory sex for hours into the night, and you’re crashing at your desk. The mountain of work on your desk is taking ten times longer to get through as you try to get your eyes to focus on the screen in front of you.

You yawn, drinking a sip of your coffee to help you stay awake.

“Jesus, what happened to _you_?”

Quinn’s at your doorway, eyebrow arched, and you are _not_ in the mood.

“Fuck. Off. Fabray,” you wheeze out.

Quinn laughs incredulously. “Did you lose your _voice_?”

“Yes,” you croak out with a wince. 

Screaming at the top of your lungs for an inning straight and then moaning Brittany’s name for hours into the night will do that to you. Brittany was the one who had to shake you awake this morning, still naked and hair messy from the night’s activities, as she gasped out the time and you shot up like a bullet. You barely had time to take a quick shower and get dressed fast enough to make it to work, the Los Angeles traffic almost pushing you fifteen minutes late.

Quinn barks out another laugh. “You’re ridiculous. Tell me it’s cause Brittany took you to last night’s game and not because of any sex-related activities. Sam and I were watching it on TV last night and it looked crazy.”

You grin as you recall the game’s historic ending, even as you cough into the crook of your elbow. “Both,” you answer with a smirk.

Quinn groans in response and shakes her head at you. “You both are terrible.”

You wheeze out a laugh but the effort makes your throat tighten painfully and your head throb. You figure Quinn isn’t here to catch up on game highlights and your patience for anything today is pretty short. “What do you want?” You whisper out, your hand coming up to your temple.

Quinn looks hesitant and dread fills your stomach at the look on her face. You’ve seen that look before. You have only one guess on what it might be, and you have a sinking feeling at what it is. 

“So… guess who my parents just had dinner with last night.”

Fuck.

“Your parents are in town.”


	5. Game 51 of 162

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brittany mills about her apartment, halting mid-step when she realizes you’re still frozen in place near the door. Brittany chuckles, cocking her head at you. “Why are you just standing there, silly?”
> 
> “Britt, I don’t know if you heard me. We’re having dinner with _my parents_ tonight,” you repeat, voice slightly strained. You fan yourself, your face feeling warm. “Is it hot in here? It feels hot in here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! It's been a crazy couple of months in my life. This chapter is really a filler chapter, tbh, because if I look at my outline, this entire chapter only spans just a couple of bullet points, but I couldn't help but write endlessly over each scene. These two just make the fluff come easy. Enjoy!

Brittany takes the news far too well.

“Oh, fun! Can’t wait to meet them!” Brittany says easily, kissing you swiftly on the cheek in greeting after you had burst into her apartment after work and blurted out the evening’s plans.

You stare after her for a second, a little in shock that Brittany’s being so cavalier about it. Maybe you said it wrong.

Brittany mills about her apartment, halting mid-step when she realizes you’re still frozen in place near the door. Brittany chuckles, cocking her head at you. “Why are you just standing there, silly?”

“Britt, I don’t know if you heard me. We’re having dinner with _my parents_ tonight,” you repeat, voice slightly strained. You fan yourself, your face feeling warm. “Is it hot in here? It feels hot in here.”

“Oh, you’re really freaking out about this,” Brittany realizes, her eyes widening. In an instant, she’s rushing to you, her hands wrapping around your biceps and smoothing over them in soothing motions as she guides you to sit on the couch.

Soon enough, you’re pliable in Brittany’s skilled hands as she gently rearranges you two so that you’re nestled in the crook of her arms, your cheek resting on Brittany’s chest as she eases you both back on the couch to recline.

“Better?” Brittany murmurs into your hair, her fingers trailing up and down the side of your arm.

You nuzzle your cheek into Brittany’s shirt, breathing in her scent. “Much.”

You can feel Brittany’s chuckle rumble through her chest as her hold around you tightens. “Now, I'm guessing there’s a bit of background here with your parents.”

You sigh. “I might just be making a big deal out of it.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” Brittany gently chastises. “Everything about you is, like, the biggest deal of all deals to me. Just talk me through it.”

You tilt your head to glance up at Brittany, and her lips are drawn up in a soft smile, eyes warm and ocean clear. It always steals a little of your breath whenever Brittany looks at you like this, affection shining clearly, and you can’t resist tilting your head back even further, angling for a kiss, and she readily obliges. You break away with a content hum, feeling warm all over and comfortable in a way that you’re realizing only Brittany makes you feel. Brittany smiles at you, waiting patiently as her thumb rubs smooth circles into the skin of your arm.

“My mom…” you chew on your bottom lip as you figure out how to phrase it, “has a lot of high expectations, to say the least. She’s been that way since ever since, which I love her to death and all, but it got worse once our family became buddy-buddy with the Fabrays back when I was in high school.”

“That’s Quinn’s family, right?”

You nod. “Right. She just has this habit of comparing me to Quinn whenever she’s been around the Fabrays. My mom will inevitably go on about how _well_ Quinn’s doing and now about how _successful_ _dear Quinn’s boyfriend_ is and _why can’t I find a nice, established woman to settle down with_ and, well, it’s just a little much sometimes.”

Brittany makes a commiserating noise, her bottom lip jutting out in a slight pout. “Aw, that doesn’t sound fun.”

You heave another sigh. “It’s not. My dad’s better, but he’s a little old-school and traditional and _never_ impressed by anything. I swear, I could launch the biggest ad campaign to ever exist and that man wouldn’t even flinch,” you finish with a roll of your eyes.

“So, impressing them is a little important to you,” Brittany concludes, eyes soft and smile warm, and you nod sheepishly, a little embarrassed at how you initially reacted now that you’ve talked it through.

“Well, I’m a total hit with parental figures, so you won’t have to worry,” Brittany says with a grin. Something must show in your face, because Brittany’s grin flickers a bit. “Wait. Am I the first girl that they’re getting to meet?”

You bury your face into her shirt with a groan. “Maybe.”

Brittany laughs, squeezing you in her arms tighter. “Well, I’m honored to be the very first girlfriend meeting the Lopez parents.”

_Hopefully, the last_ crosses your mind fleetingly but you quickly file it away, the very thought causing your cheeks to burn. You have no idea where _that_ came from and you definitely can’t deal with that right now. You clear your throat, shaking away your thoughts. “It’s okay that you’re meeting them, right? It’s not too soon or anything?”

“No way! I was actually thinking that you could meet my mom and sister soon, and maybe…” Brittany hesitates, “Come with me to pay respects to my dad? I haven’t been by in awhile.”

“Britt…” You sit up properly, noticing Brittany’s change of tone. You take her hands in yours, lacing your fingers together, and tug at her hands until she glances up at you. “I would love to,” you say with a soft smile and your response lights Brittany up like a Christmas tree, her smile turning brilliant and her eyes softening as she looks at you.

Brittany draws nearer and soon, her lips are on yours again, and, as you close your eyes, you feel the anxiety caused by your parents ebbing away with the pressure of Brittany’s lips on yours.

Brittany pulls away and you follow her, not ready to part, but she stays pulled back and you open your eyes to see Brittany’s expression has turned playful, a cheeky grin spread across her lips. 

“I’m guessing it’s a no on blue face paint tonight then? Because we’re playing the Giants so...”

You slap at her shoulder as she bursts into loud giggles at the horrified expression on your face. “So not funny,” you deadpan as you fall backwards onto the couch, twisting your hand into the fabric of her shirt to tug her onto you for another kiss.

/

In a way, you probably shouldn’t be as surprised as you are that your parents have been swept off their feet by Brittany, considering how easily she swept you off yours.

You knew your mom was completely charmed the moment Brittany unveiled a bouquet of flowers from behind her back upon first meeting her at the restaurant. Brittany had even beaten your dad to the punch in pulling out your mom’s chair for her at the table, earning you looks of impression shot your way from both of your parents.

Brittany’s been shameless about buttering up your dad, as well, carrying on easy conversation with him and asking all the right questions about his medical practice, topped off with never failing to address him as _sir_ —a detail you know particularly pleases your dad.

“Do you two make it down often to visit Santana?” Brittany asks, glancing between your parents.

“Not often enough, if you ask me,” your mom responds, eyeing you pointedly but affectionately.

“Yes, I usually have a consultation every other month or so down here in LA, so we like to make a trip out of it,” your dad says evenly. “We were hoping to get into that one country club over in the Hills for a bit of golf for this trip, but even the Fabrays haven’t had any luck with getting an invite.”

“You both play golf, sir?” Brittany asks amicably.

“We dabble,” your mom says. “Do you play, Brittany?”

Brittany glances at you briefly, shooting you a quick smile, and you give her an encouraging smile back. “Yes, I’m pretty familiar with it.”

“And now, Brittany, what is it that you do?” Your dad asks, cutting into his steak.

“Yes, Santana here hasn’t been very forthcoming with telling us all about you, dear,” your mom chimes in.

“I’m a choreographer at a local dance studio here in LA,” Brittany answers with a polite smile.

“A choreographer?” Your mom’s smile dips a bit and your shoulders tense in response. “And how is that going for you? I can’t imagine that profession has a lot of growth in it.”

“Mom,” you balk.

Brittany, to her credit, laughs it off easily, laying a placating hand on your forearm. “No, it’s okay. Nothing I haven’t heard before,” Brittany says with a wink towards you, before turning back to your mom. “Actually, the owner of the studio just approached me this week about becoming a co-owner.”

Your eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise. This is the first you’re hearing of this. “Really? I didn’t know that,” you remark softly to Brittany, who bashfully lifts a shoulder in response.

“That sounds like fantastic news, dear! Congratulations!” Your mom responds in earnest, shooting you an impressed look.

“And what are your plans for ownership?” Your dad questions.

“Well, sir, we have some plans to open a few other locations in Southern California and maybe through the entire state later, if all goes well,” Brittany answers respectfully.

You can tell by the way your dad is leaning forward, listening intently to Brittany with his hands folded in front of him, that he’s genuinely interested, which is a feat in and of itself. “That’s a pretty solid business plan there.”

Brittany’s cheeks color as she blushes slightly, a humbled look crossing her face. “Took a few business classes in college.”

“And where was that, dear?” Your mom asks.

“MIT.”

Your parents both wear matching expressions of surprise and you relish in it, grinning adoringly at Brittany.

“Well, that’s a fine school, dear! Wow!” Your mom says, quickly glancing at you to shoot you a look of admiration.

When Brittany excuses herself from the table to go to the washroom, dropping a kiss onto your cheek as she got up, your mom reaches across the table to squeeze at your arm.

“She’s delightful, _mija_ ,” your mom gushes, leaning forward.

“Very bright girl,” your dad adds, his usually stoic exterior broken by a rugged smile.

“Yes, much more bright than that boy Quinn’s dating. He’s sweet and all, but he looks about as bright as a bag of rocks. I don’t know how he’s gotten as far as he has,” your mom rolls her eyes.

“Maribel,” your dad scolds gently, but the mirth is clear in his eyes.

Your mom waves a dismissive hand at him, chuckling. “Oh hush, let me have my fun. I can’t wait to tell Judy.”

You flush, slightly embarrassed but pleased. “I’m glad you guys were able to meet her.”

“She’s very beautiful, _mija._ You two make quite a couple,” your dad remarks.

You can’t help but agree as you catch sight of Brittany walking back from the washroom and striding back towards your table, the dress she’s wearing for the night swishing around her legs. You both lock eyes immediately and a grin slowly breaks across her face upon seeing you, and you don’t even realize you’re wearing a matching grin, the smile dimpling into your cheeks, until your mom speaks up. 

“Now, honey, why don’t you ever look at me like that?” your mom teases, eliciting a chuckle from your dad, and you quickly snap your gaze back to your parents, your cheeks warming.

The rest of dinner goes smoothly, with Brittany captivating your parents and easily steering the conversation. You can’t help but sit back and gaze at her with open affection, a little amazed as you watch Brittany laugh good-naturedly with your parents.

You’re almost able to call the whole ordeal a rousing success, as all four of you exchange pleasantries outside the restaurant while you wait for your parents’ valet, until you hear something that makes your stomach drop.

“Can you believe the Dodgers tonight?” someone mentions in a nearby conversation.

Oh no.

Immediately, you turn to Brittany as you warn, “Britt…”

But Brittany looks at you in a panic, eyes so wide that you would find it almost funny if your parents weren’t standing right there, looking at you two curiously.

“Everything alright?” Your dad asks, looking between you two.

There’s nowhere to go to get away from the conversation, with the waiting area crowded and your parents’ valet due up next.

“I can’t believe that home run by Taylor, he’s doing incredible for a call-up,” someone responds and, well, that about does it.

Brittany quickly plugs her ears with her fingers, and your parents are clearly taken aback by the gesture. You widen your eyes at Brittany, trying to wordlessly signal to _cut it out_ , but Brittany just fidgets uneasily, eyes cutting over to the group of strangers discussing tonight’s game. 

The conversation nearby, much to your chagrin, continues, “It was a pretty close game too—”

"We need to get out of here,” Brittany exclaims to you, her voice booming and causing everyone waiting nearby to turn and look.

Your parents inch away noticeably.

“Brittany,” you hiss, mortified. You glance over at your parents, the smiles that were lingering on their faces all night slowly slipping as they stare at Brittany, flabbergasted.

“I’ll go get the car, I can’t be here right now, I’m so sorry, it was nice to meet you two,” Brittany hollers out at a volume that’s a couple decibels far too loud and Brittany quickly spins on her heel, walking towards the parking lot at a pace so brisk that she might as well be running, all with her fingers still plugged in her ears.

You stare after her in disbelief, blinking a couple times, before turning back to your parents, letting out a high, nervous laugh. Your mom looks uncomfortable, a smile drawn tightly across her face, while your dad is frowning deeply.

“She’s just really particular about not hearing about the Dodgers game before she’s gotten to watch it,” you explain brightly, cringing internally as the expressions on your parents’ faces show barely masked disapproval.

Your parents’ valet drives up to the curb just then and your mom quickly goes towards the passenger door. “Well, tell Brittany that it was… nice to meet her. We’ll talk tomorrow,” your mom says curtly, and your father just clears his throat and gives you a nod in goodbye as he helps your mom into the car and climbs into the driver’s seat. You aimlessly wave in goodbye as they drive away.

You still can’t believe that actually happened and you’re still standing speechless in the same spot, staring after your parents’ car, when Brittany pulls up to the curb after a few minutes with her Jeep.

Brittany opens the door for you, her expression remorseful. “San, I am _so_ sorry.”

You climb in without a word, still reeling, and Brittany quickly clambers into the driver’s seat, continuing, “It’s just—they were talking about the _game_ , and you know, it was just habit.”

You open your mouth to reply but you still don’t think you can find words and your mouth falls shut. The night was _so close_ to being a success that you’re still a little in shock at how quickly it took a turn.

“Please say something,” Brittany says, glancing over to you nervously.

“Brittany...” you pinch the bridge of your nose. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from saying anything else because, now that the shock’s wearing off, you’re finding that you’re a little _pissed_ and part of you realizes this is the first time you’ve ever felt this way with Brittany. 

But another part of you also realizes that, with anyone else, you might’ve already flipped your shit, so you will yourself to take the time to cool off for the sake of yours and Brittany’s relationship.

Brittany winces at your silence. “At least, majority of the night went really well, right?”

“You know what,” you cut in sharply, pursing your lips into a tight smile, “I’ll talk to them. Just… drop me off, please.”

Brittany’s face falls and you feel like a complete asshole upon seeing her expression, but you don’t think you can say anything more without saying something you’ll probably end up regretting.

Brittany opens her mouth, looking like she’s about to press the matter, and you silently plead that she doesn’t because you do _not_ want to start anything, but luckily, her mouth shuts closed and she nods begrudgingly, driving the rest of the way towards your apartment in silence.

/

You wake up the next morning alone for the first time in weeks, and, for a fleeting moment, you can’t place exactly where you are and why you aren’t waking up to lips against your collarbone and blonde hair tickling against your skin before it all sets in and the night’s events come back to you.

You sigh, feeling cold all over and passing a hand over your face, before reaching for your phone. You check for anything from your parents, but aside a text from Brittany that you can’t bring yourself to open just yet, there’s nothing from them.

You close your eyes with a groan, throwing an arm over your eyes, as you replay the horror-stricken expressions on your parents’ faces and the way Brittany’s face had fallen in the car ride home. Emotions left over from last night are still swirling, acute embarrassment still causing your skin to flush and a twisting ache in the pit of your stomach over the empty side of your bed.

But where last night those emotions were tempting to boil over, in the morning light today, they’ve curdled and cooled off into one echoing feeling of emptiness.

Barring that… _incident_ , the rest of the night went better than expected. A lot better. Once you blink past the soured ending, you realize that you actually couldn’t have imagined a better meeting between Brittany and your parents. 

You don’t think you’ve ever seen your dad laugh the way he did last night outside of when he’s around your family and or the shine in your mom’s eyes and the constant impressed looks she kept shooting you. Your parents have always had high expectations for you and, though you love them to death, a small part of you will always feel like, no matter how established you are or how much success you achieve, you’re still sixteen in their eyes and never quite good enough.

So you were definitely pinning your hopes on impressing them and Brittany washed your worries away with her bright smile and her easy laugh and the seamless way she had gotten your parents to warm to her, like she’s known them for years. And the way Brittany had looked at you, the way she spoke of you to your parents, clear adoration in her voice, kept you breathless through dinner.

But more than that, more than just the innate need for your parents to be _proud_ of you, you find that the pure affection of seeing the most important people in your life meet someone who’s become so special to you get along so well outweighs everything else last night and makes warmth spread through your chest.

A moment surfaces from the night, a small one that didn’t stand out to you until now because you were too focused on the way the night ended. But now, you can see it easily, almost like you were outside of yourself and, instead, looking at all of you gathered around the table.

Your parents’ eyes are crinkled in laughter as they laugh at something Brittany is saying. Brittany’s blue eyes are bright and warm as she recounts her story, a sheepish grin on her face that’s utterly charming. You’re laughing too, your head shaking slightly with amusement, and you can see that you’re absolutely glowing, the dimples on your cheeks prominent as you beam at Brittany, your eyes trained on her profile as she talks. 

And when Brittany turns to look at you, her smile widens and you can see her fingers lift to your face, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear, her fingers trailing along the side of your cheek as she pulls away. You lean into her touch, your eyes never leaving hers.

But most of all, you notice the knowing look your parents exchange upon seeing the gesture and the familiar fondness they regard each other with as they look at you and Brittany together.

And the moment makes you realize that, even though the night may have ended on a less than stellar note, your parents clearly saw how happy Brittany makes you. At the end of the day, despite the expectations and the habits of comparison, you know your parents ultimately just want to see you happy. You’d gladly go through a little embarrassment if it means you’ll get more moments like this, moments of all the important people in your life interacting. 

Realizing all of this now, however, just leaves you with this hollow feeling of regret that you didn’t realize this last night, that you didn’t tug Brittany close and tell her that _it’s okay_ and maybe laugh the whole thing off with everyone.

You allow yourself a second of wallowing before you take a deep breath, sitting up in bed, and you steel yourself, resolved to get all of this squared away. You pick up your phone beside you and hit the Call button on your mom’s contact.

You hear your mom pick up on the other end. _“Hello?”_

“Mom, look, about last night—” you start, determined, but your mom cuts you off.

_“Oh,_ mija _, I’m glad you called! Your father and I had such a great time last night with you and Brittany.”_

You blink at your mom’s easygoing tone, a stark comparison from the curt way she bid you goodbye. “You did?” You ask incredulously. “But you guys left so quickly after Brittany had… gone to get the car.”

_“Yes, well,”_ your mom laughs, _“I must admit, Brittany definitely surprised your father and me in more ways than one last night, but we all had a great laugh over it this morning.”_

“Wait, who’s _we all_?”

_“Your father, Brittany, and I!”_

You freeze. “Sorry, did you say you, Dad, and _Brittany?_ My Brittany?” Your mom laughs and you can hear commotion in the background. “Wait, where areyou?”

_“Brittany came by our hotel this morning to apologize for the misunderstanding last night and she took your father and I to that country club your father was talking about!”_

In the background, you can distinctly hear Brittany’s laugh and your father’s gruff voice and you pull the phone away from your ear and stare at it in disbelief.

When you put the phone back to your ear, you tune back into what your mom’s saying. _“...really is such a delightful girl. And quite a character! Your father and I have just been in stitches all morning. You’ll have to bring her by more often, alright?”_

“Sure, Mom,” you agree absently.

_“Oh, and Brittany also told us all about your big contract that you forgot to mention last night! Your father and I are so proud of you. Let us know when that launches and we’ll be here for it, okay?”_

You feel your throat thicken inexplicably and you swallow. “Of course, Mom. Listen, can you put Brittany on?”

_“Sure, hon,_ _one sec—_ ”

You can hear vague shuffling and your mom’s muffled voice and your dad’s deep chuckles and soon enough, Brittany’s voice comes down the line.

_“Hey, San!”_ Brittany greets you brightly and the sound of her voice goes through you like a deep drink of hot chocolate, warming you to your toes and whisking away the remaining tension in your stomach.

“Brittany…” you whisper, your lips twitching upwards. “How did you even…?” You trail off, not even knowing where to start, and let out a breathless laugh.

_“Well,”_ Brittany draws out the word, her tone light, _“I may have traded some tickets to score an invite to the country club and I wanted to get in some quality time with your parents before they headed back up state. That okay?”_

“More than okay,” you reply instantly, your fingers pressing your phone harder against your ear just so you can hear her voice come through even the tiniest bit clearer. “I, um, missed you this morning, though.”

Brittany giggles softly in your ear. _“Me too. Can I see you tonight to make up for it?”_

“Please.”

You hear a clatter in the background and your mom yelling at your dad and your dad laughing. _“Uh, San,”_ Brittany says with a laugh, “ _Looks like your dad might be messing with the scorecards and I might have to step in here. Can I call you later?”_

“Yeah, of course, call me later. But wait, Britt.”

_“Yeah?”_

“Just… thank you,” you say softly.

_“Of course, San,”_ Brittany replies warmly and you end the call with a click, your heart feeling overwhelmingly full.

/

You do end up laughing over it later.

First, with Brittany, later that afternoon, after you greeted her with a tight embrace and a shy _Sorry_ against her shoulder and she greeted you back with arms drawn tight around you and chuckled a _Sorry_ right on back. And when you both settle into your couch, your feet tucked under Brittany’s thigh, you both fall into giggles as you imitate the shocked expressions your parents made.

Then, with your parents, when your parents give you a call when they’ve safely made it back up state, and they ask to get put on speaker just so your dad can tease Brittany about controlling herself the next time you all are out if the Dodgers are playing, and you all laugh at the easy way Brittany replies, “Can’t promise that, sir.”

/

From there, everything starts falling into a sweet summer rhythm.

Spring settled in slowly, measured by stretches of you and Brittany discovering each other and the layers between you two falling into place day by day—with baseball, with work, with your friends, with your parents. 

But then, summer feels like one day, it’s just _here_.

One day, the temperature is a few degrees higher, the sun hangs in the sky a little longer, the traffic gets a little bit worse, and the city comes alive on cue with the arrival of a classic Los Angeles summer. Endless days and the hazy California sun become the background to the smooth, newfound routine that summer brings.

It’s 4:26pm on a Friday afternoon and the novelty of you packing your bag early, shutting down your laptop, and leaving it on your desk for the weekend has worn off for your whole office after a couple Fridays in a row. The first Friday you did it, you didn’t realize it was apparently so out of place for you at the office until your boss double-checked her watch just to make sure she had the right time and your junior associates were nervously asking if there was something wrong with the ad campaign that was making you leave your laptop for the weekend.

So, it’s been a little bit of a culture shock for everyone, including yourself, considering you’re always usually the last to leave the office and you never fail to take your laptop home and do some work over the weekend. But honestly, everything with the campaign’s been going really well that you and your team can warrant easing off on the amount of work that you all have to put in. 

The ad campaign for the movie studio officially launches in October and is centered around a huge set of movie releases in the fall. The campaign for the studio is then set to run for an entire year, which takes an entire team to run and a lot of hours and ideas put in, but it’s nothing you haven’t done before. With the success of the Super Bowl campaign and the amount of work you and your team put towards that contract, the executive leadership in the agency is looking towards you to execute the same success with this studio contract. It’s a lot of pressure, but you know carrying out this contract successfully will all but secure you the senior leadership position. 

It helps, too, to have the full support of your boss as well. In the lead up to the fall releases and the official launch, you and your team have been putting in a lot of hours to build pre-launch buzz and have been testing smaller campaigns to get market feedback and test what’s performing and what’s not. And, well, so far, so good, considering how relatively early it is in the campaign. All of the key metrics are showing positive trends, pacing ahead of the initial projections for this point in the campaign. Everything is clicking—test audiences are responding better than average, the creative has been a hit, and buzz has been building significantly. By all measures, the campaign is pacing so far above the base projections that you’ve had to adjust schedule in order to accommodate, including winding down multiple rounds of testing due to the early success. And after some initial skepticism that something must be _wrong_ , after a few weeks, your team and your boss finally saw that the success is here to stay.

So with things going so well, you’re able to ease up, tell your team to take off early, leave your work at work, and finally enjoy your weekends for once in a really long time.

And okay, it also helps that leaving just a little bit early on Friday afternoons makes getting to the Friday night games at Dodger Stadium much more tolerable.

Not that that’s the reason why. At all.

But it definitely helps, seeing as you’re cruising into the parking lot of Dodger Stadium with plenty of time to spare. You’ve been able to go to more and more of the games now that work’s dialed down, to Brittany’s delight, and even to yours.

_“_ Mija _, will you tell Brittany that we said hello? And when are you two coming to visit?”_ your mom asks on the call coming across your car’s speakers.

You set your car into park with a laugh, shaking your head as you check your appearance in your rearview mirror. “Yes, Mom, I will, and my answer is still _I don’t know_ for the third week in a row,” you tease lightheartedly.

_“You know what, I’ll just mention it to Brittany next time you put her on since apparently, my own daughter just doesn’t want to see me. I know_ she’ll _understand.”_

You roll your eyes with affection at your mom’s dramatics, but your lips tug up at how obviously taken your parents have become with Brittany. “Mom, you guys were just down here a couple weeks ago and saw us then. But look, I promise we’ll make it up. Our schedules are just a little crazy right now. But listen, I’ll call you later, okay? I just got here.”

_“Okay, don’t forget to tell Brittany I said hello!”_

You laugh, your smile growing into a grin. “ _Yes_ , Mom, I will.” You end the call with a button on your steering wheel after exchanging _I love you’s_ and exit your car, strolling towards the field level entrance with your ticket stub in hand.

You can’t believe how worried you were over Brittany meeting your parents just a few weeks ago, but now, your mom has been raving about Brittany since they’ve met. You should be a little offended, actually, considering your mom now barely shows you any consideration during your calls and instead laughs with Brittany for long stretches on the phone when she gets the chance. But you don’t mind, not even the slightest, whenever Brittany sends you a wink with your phone pressed to her ear, making your mom burst out laughing on the other end, because this is all you could’ve wished for, and then some.

(On a side note, it’s been so satisfying to be on the other end of the Fabray and Lopez matriarchal gossip. You’ve been wearing a shit-eating grin for weeks with Quinn shooting you glares over how her mom’s been getting on her case for _how much Maribel adores Brittany_ and _how charming Brittany is_ and _why can’t Sam tone down the impressions_. And you’ve enjoyed every second of it because you haven’t had to hear it on your end for weeks now.)

Even your dad’s been showing signs of that stoic exterior breaking, casually asking how Brittany’s been doing with her new role as co-owner at the dance studio and asking you for updates on your campaign at work. He actually sounds impressed in your weekly calls, even letting out deep chuckles whenever Brittany’s on and Brittany gets to joking about their last round of golf. Your dad’s always been a man of few words, but you can tell that he’s just as impressed and taken with Brittany as your mom is. One call, he ended with a gruff, “ _She’s a keeper,_ _Santana. Don’t screw it up,_ ” and you couldn’t help but agree, grinning widely after you hung up and striding over to Brittany, holding her face in your hands and kissing her soundly.

So yeah, life is pretty fucking good.

“Hey, Santana! Brittany’s waiting for you already,” one of the regular ticket attendants greets you, tearing your ticket stub.

“Thanks, William!” You respond with a grin, strolling through the turnstiles and into the field level of the stadium that you’ve come to get familiar with.

Immediately, as you jog down the stadium rows, you spot a signature head of blonde hair tucked underneath a blue ballcap, and your steps pick up its pace slightly. As soon as you get near enough, you duck into the row behind Brittany, covering her eyes with both of your palms as you loop your arms around her from behind and duck in close, your chin brushing her shoulder.

“Guess who,” you whisper into Brittany’s ear, your lips brushing her earlobe, and to Brittany’s credit, she doesn’t even flinch or jump, almost like she knew it was you. A grin spreads widely across Brittany’s pink lips, pearly white teeth digging into her bottom lip. Her hands shoot upwards, her fingers curling around your wrists, and she leans back in her seat, her shoulders pressing against you.

“I’m going to have ask you to back off, miss, I have a girlfriend,” Brittany teases. You giggle, pulling your hands away to unveil gorgeous blue eyes twinkling at you as Brittany cranes her neck to look up at you with a wide grin. 

You lift an eyebrow, smirk on your lips. “Good answer,” you remark and Brittany just lifts one of her hands to cup the nape of your neck and tug you down into a kiss and you can feel her smile against your own, and your entire body scorches in reaction, tingling from your scalp down to your toes, and you press a laugh against Brittany’s lips at the bubbly feeling in your chest. 

You make your away around to the right row, grinning the whole time, and take your seat, Brittany’s arm coming around the back of it, as you both settle in for another perfect Friday night at Dodger Stadium.

/

Sunday games become a staple at Brittany’s place, even if the game’s at Dodger Stadium.

With you being able to go to more Friday night games more often, Brittany’s usually giving those Sunday afternoon game tickets to one of her friends or selling them off, preferring to stay in with you and host a weekly gathering at her place.

And with summer in full swing, Sundays become a long, lazy day of sun beaming in through the windows, the A/C on full blast, the game blaring on the TV, plenty of beer and food to go around, and a handful of people crowded around Brittany’s couch.

Brittany’s friends are usually present on these Sundays, with Quinn and Sam stopping in on the occasional week, and you’ve gotten to know the motley crew of friends that Brittany has.

“Look, I can’t even explain how wrong you are, Finn. Clearly, Taylor’s success _isn’t_ a fluke,” you argue loudly, pointing a finger in Finn’s face.

You might’ve gotten to know them a little too well.

Finn huffs, but with a friendly smile on his face, looking over to Brittany who’s hiding a smirk behind her beer bottle. “Santana, the dude was dumped by the _Mariners_ and barely hit for them over three seasons. He’s having a good few weeks filling in while our dudes are on the DL, but it won’t last at all.”

You hold a hand up, shaking your head. “Okay, first of all, he’s a different player now than when he was for the Mariners,” you fold down one finger on your hand, “Second of all, he spent some time for our minor team and turned in more than a few weeks of success there, plus Spring Training,” you fold down another finger, “and third of all, he reworked his entire swing with our hitting coaches, the same ones who reworked Turner’s swing, mind you, and _that’s_ why it isn’t a fluke. Even I can tell he’s the real deal.”

A chorus of _Ohhhhh’s_ echo around the couch as Finn opens his mouth and closes it, no counterpoint prepared, and you mime dropping a mic, throwing your hands up in a nonchalant shrug. 

Mike jostles Finn next to him on the couch. “Dude, give it up. _I’m_ convinced.”

There’s a beat of silence as everyone waits on Finn’s response but Finn just shakes his head, holding his hands up as he concedes with a chuckle, “Alright, I see your point. Maybe Taylor is legit.”

The room bursts into cheers and laughs as you let out a whoop, effectively winning an argument that’s been going on for three innings. Mike leans across the coffee table to extend his palm to yours for a high five and you slap your palm across his triumphantly.

“Finn, when are you ever going to learn that your opinions are just so, _so_ wrong?” Brittany asks with an exaggerated shake of her head.

Finn groans good-naturedly, narrowing his eyes at Brittany. “What in the heck did you teach her, Britt?”

Brittany giggles and curls an arm around your waist, tugging you back onto her lap as you got so into proving your point that you rose to your feet. “Don’t hate because my girlfriend just owned you,” Brittany snipes back with a grin. “Now go get us fresh beers since you lost.”

Finn laughs but stands up from the couch in good faith, plucking yours and Brittany’s empty beers and heads towards Brittany’s kitchen.

You settle back onto Brittany’s thighs, throwing an arm around her shoulders, your fingers trailing into her hair. Brittany turns to you, her eyes lit up in pure delight, and says, a hint of teasing in her tone, “Where did _that_ come from?”

You slap a hand against her shoulder, making Brittany giggle. “Shut up,” you giggle along with her but then your lips twitch into a smug smirk. “But seriously, how impressed are you right now? I learned a few things, you know,” you say breezily, lifting a shoulder.

Brittany throws her head back in a bright laugh, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth as her grin threatens to break wide across her face. “It was pretty good,” she says with a slight shake of her head.

You can’t help but grin back. “ _Just_ pretty good?” You lean in, narrowing your eyes at her playfully and arching an eyebrow. You tug a little with the hand curled into Brittany’s hair to tilt her head back just a bit so you can watch her eyes flash darker at the gesture. You smirk.

“Okay, okay,” Brittany relents with a giggle, “It was totally impressive.” You sit back, pleased, and ease your hold in her hair. Immediately, her head picks up from the back of the couch as she leans up towards your face, her nose brushing against your cheek, and she stops a hair away from pressing your lips together. “Consider me _very_ proud,” she says lowly.

You hum your approval as you look down at her through your eyelashes and you go to close the distance, your eyes fluttering shut, when the crack of a bat makes both of your heads snap towards the TV just in time to see Taylor, the player you had successfully argued in favor for, launch a grand slam home run over the center field wall, clearing the bases and having four runs score for the Dodgers.

The living room erupts in cheers and you join in, raising your fist triumphantly over your head as Taylor takes the victory lap around the bases. Over Brittany’s shoulder, you see Finn rush in from the kitchen, beers in hand, due to all the commotion and immediately, you shoot him a smug smirk. “Take that, Hudson!”

Brittany laughs beneath you, her arms tightening around your waist, as she tugs your chin down, shaking her head all the while. “That’s my girl,” she says around a grin, before pressing your lips together.

/

But your favorite part of these Sunday games are the late afternoons that follow.

The sun is still hanging in the sky, drooping low, but the heat is still present, making the air sticky and full as it permeates through Brittany’s apartment. Even with the A/C on, it only provides a slight reprieve from the heat, the temperature almost simmering throughout the place.

A few hours ago, the place was packed with the usual crowd, lively discussion and cheers filling the room as the game carried on, but now, it’s quiet, the crowd long past gone, with the sound of the TV still playing softly, white noise in the background as it transitioned from the game to random sports highlights.

It’s gotten late enough where, even though the sun is still out, it’s dim enough to warrant turning on a few lights. But instead, the apartment stays slightly dark, sun barely trickling in through the shades, and you rely on the flashes of the TV behind you to cast a muted glow on the room, not particularly caring to move right now from your current spot on the couch. 

You pant against Brittany’s mouth, beads of sweat dripping down your neck and down the valley of your breasts. You lean your forehead against hers and open your eyes to find hers, dark and navy, staring up at you intensely.

Her fingers dig into your waist, her thumbs rubbing along your hipbones, and you lift your hips slowly, deliberately, before sinking back down onto the toy neatly strapped onto Brittany’s hips.

You watch as the move makes Brittany bite her lip, half-hooded blue eyes dilating, and you do it again, your knees digging into the couch and gripping at her waist where you’re straddling her, and this time, a breathy moan escapes her lips or maybe yours.

You watch as blue eyes flit downwards to where you’re connected, eyeing the way your hips meet hers and the toy disappearing in and out of you, and she muffles a groan into the crook of your neck and you wrap your arms around her shoulders to keep her even closer.

It’s hot, way too hot now, and you can feel your hair matting with sweat, the body heat you two are creating making it almost unbearable, but you’re relishing in the way your skin seems to sizzle from all the heat and the waves of pleasure. Your eyes roll back in your head and you whimper at the sensations flooding through you when Brittany snaps her hips upwards, your skin flushing, reddening as pleasure jolts through you in a way that makes you feel like you’re overheating.

You’re not sure what time it is, not sure how long you and Brittany have been at this, but there’s no rush, no hurriedness to either of your movements. You can feel the pressure building in the base of your spine, pleasure sparking through you as you dig your nails into Brittany’s shoulders, and you know you’ll be there soon enough, tipping over the edge.

“God,” Brittany whispers against your collarbone as your hips roll again, her mouth placing soft open-mouthed kisses, her tongue darting out to taste salty skin, all along your chest, “You’re so beautiful, Santana.”

In response, you lift her chin up so you can kiss her, your other hand sliding up her back to cup the nape of her neck, holding her lips against yours. The kiss is gentle and slow, matching the pace of both of your hips. Brittany’s hands slide from your waist downwards to grip handfuls of your backside and you moan your approval against her mouth. 

The kiss turning too sloppy, you rest your forehead back against hers, your eyes half-opening once more. With Brittany’s grip on your ass, she slows the pace of your hips even further, guiding you to grind slowly down the toy nestled onto Brittany’s hips at an angle that makes you whimper. She’s filling you deeper now and you settle torturously down into her lap, rotating your hips in a way that makes Brittany slam her eyes shut and gasp out your name. You both work in tandem, easing your hips up and down in deliciously slow grinds that also presses the other end of the toy against Brittany in _just_ the right way each time.

Both of your breaths intermingle with each other, the taste of Brittany’s exhale filtering into your mouth as she pants against your lips and you gasp against hers, and you stare deep into Brittany’s eyes, your fingers cupping the nape of her neck to keep her close. Those blue eyes sparkle back at you even in the dim afternoon light, deep and heavy with arousal, but with clear affection shining. You can’t help but smile lazily as something in your chest twists, and her lips tug upwards in response. 

“Hi,” she murmurs softly, the smile on her face gentle and sweet, a stark contrast to the obscene way your hips are starting to collide faster, the pace quickening as Brittany’s hips piston upwards.

“Hi,” you breathe back, finding this—staring into Brittany’s eyes, heads tipping together and exchanging breaths— _so hot_ , and it’s almost too much to take in, the swell of emotion you feel and the hitch in your breath as you stare at Brittany, on top of the way her grip is tight on your backside, her hips are snapping upwards and filling you so deeply, your hips rolling down to meet her, the sound of your skin meeting.

You could stay here forever, if you’re so inclined, with the summer day fading into the night, remnants of alcohol still buzzing through you, a long hot day of good company and being at Brittany’s side, coupled with this languid, slow aftermath, still etched into your smile. But the waves of pleasure are starting to crescendo, the coil at the pit of your stomach tightening, and you know she’s close too with the way her breath is starting to hiccup, her teeth digging into her lip so tightly that her lip almost goes white at the indent, her moan sticking in the air.

You bring your lips together in a mess of a kiss as you fasten the pace, sucking her bottom lip into your mouth and trailing your tongue along the seam of her lips. Brittany matches you desperately and wetly, and you can feel her mouthing your name against your lips as soon as the kiss gets too sloppy to continue. You grind your hips downward once, twice, and you feel Brittany buckle as the toy hits her just right and you follow her seconds after, moaning into Brittany’s mouth as you unravel slowly, shocks and jolts of pleasure ebbing and flowing through you.

Brittany’s there, bringing you down with her palms pressing downwards at the small of your back, easing you up and down slowly as you ride out your orgasm, until you break the kiss apart and fall into her waiting arms, your forehead slipping onto her shoulder. Your skin sticks together as you press your chest against hers, feeling the push and pull of her rising chest as you breathe hard. You could fall asleep right here, your bones and insides feeling like liquid, your skin hot to the touch, with Brittany’s fingers sliding up and down your back, her fingers swiping through the sweat collecting in the groove of your spine.

But Brittany must sense this because her chest rumbles with a chuckle as she presses her lips against the hair sticking to your temple. “San, we better get up.”

You shake your head against her shoulder, your eyes drooping closed. “Don’t wanna.”

Brittany’s hands continue trailing up and down your back and the motions are lulling you further into unconsciousness. “I’m pretty sure my legs have fallen asleep and are probably sticking to the couch.”

You hum. “Too bad.”

And you are so close to dozing off when you feel Brittany’s hands trail down to where your thighs meet your ass and lift you upwards, the toy slipping out of you and you moan a little at the loss. You swat at her arm half-heartedly. “That was _not_ nice,” you muffle against her neck.

She laughs and quickly taps at your ass. “Up, up.”

With all the strength you can muster, you pull yourself off of her and fall onto the couch with a groan, and you hear her giggle as she stands from the couch, sounds of straps unbuckling following suit. With your eyes still closed, you point towards her general direction. “Don’t laugh. This,” you gesture vaguely up and down the length of you, “is all your fault.”

“Poor baby,” Brittany coos at you and you feel her draw near, her arms coming around your back and under your legs. You can barely get your arms around her neck in time for her to lift you into her arms easily, and the show of strength never fails to make you run hot. Mentally, you know that you both would probably collapse if you even hinted at going for another round, but you’re tempted, your fingers tightening its grip around Brittany’s neck as she carries you to her bedroom.

You open your eyes sluggishly once you feel her start to set you down onto the bed, and you take in your favorite sight in the world—Brittany hovering above you, a curtain of blonde hair surrounding you, blue eyes peering down at you, pink lips drawn upwards and perfect white teeth peeking out in a grin. You sigh happily without even knowing it, feeling warm and sated all over, and Brittany’s smile turns amused, her head slightly shaking.

Your vision is starting to blur again, the air cooling your heated skin, and you can vaguely register that the sun’s gone down, the heat still slightly persistent even as the night’s arrived. You feel the sheets rustle and the bed dip next to you, and soon, your limbs are being manipulated, your leg draping across Brittany’s thigh, and Brittany’s fingers curl lightly around your jaw, turning your head to face her.

“Tired?” Brittany whispers with a hint of a smirk.

You want to kiss it off her.

Instead, you lift your hand up to between you and pinch your pointer finger and thumb together, keeping them a smidge apart. “Just a bit,” you tease back softly.

Brittany’s eyes brighten as she giggles, her hands tugging you closer by your waist. Even though it’s probably too hot to be cuddling, you draw nearer without resistance, needing to feel closer.

Brittany’s fingers tickle patterns along the dips of your spine and hips. “I like this,” she murmurs, her eyes flickering all over your face.

You’re not sure what she means and you know it could be a variety of things—the incredible sex you two just had, the cuddling, the whole day together surrounded by friends and filled with baseball. Or maybe she means the feeling of contentment you’ve felt all day, moment after moment strung together to make a perfect day, one that feels endless even though it’s drawing to a close as sleep nears.

But you agree, anyways, because you like this too. All of this.

You shuffle closer on your pillow to drop a feather-light kiss onto her lips, barely ghosting over her mouth, before whispering, “Me too.”

/

Though work and baseball provide a steady rhythm to the summer, there are lots of days in between filled with stretches of nothingness. No obligations, no game scheduled, no work to do, no place to be.

It’s freeing, almost, and foreign, definitely. You honestly can’t remember the last time you had a summer pan out quite like this one, full of sun and lazy days and without the hustle and blur that accompanies your usual summers.

You think it’s all due to one gorgeous blonde in your life.

(Scratch that, you _know_ it is.)

Sometimes, it just hits you how incredibly lucky you are. Especially at times like right now, as you exit your car and stop in your tracks because surely, you must be dreaming.

Brittany’s in the driveway of her place, washing her Jeep in a bikini top and denim shorts. There are soap suds everywhere, on the driveway, all over her Jeep, and some sticking to the dips of her abs and dotting her legs, and it’s… a lot. It’s straight out of one of your fantasies and you can practically hear the cheesy 80’s rock music blaring in your head as you gape blatantly, watching as Brittany sprays the white Jeep clear of soap in (what seems to you) slow motion.

A splash of cool water stings across your chest and you let out a squeak as you reel back, shaking out of your daze to find Brittany giggling at you, hose in her hand still dangerously pointed near you. “Are you just gonna stand there and perv all day or are you gonna help me?”

You pull your now wet shirt away from your skin a little, sending her a glare as you walk towards her, and she shoots you an innocent grin. “Not fair, by the way,” you grumble as soon as you’re near enough and she drops a kiss onto your lips in greeting. “How do you expect me to do anything when you look like _this_?”

Brittany smirks down at you, looking all too smug. “Was the Def Leppard too much?”

“Huh?” You blink, still somewhat dazed, then you realize the cheesy 80s music wasn’t just in your head as Brittany reaches inside her car to pause the music blaring through her speakers. Brittany’s shoulders start shaking as she tries to rein in her giggles at the blank look on your face. 

“You’re teasing me,” you realize, shooting her a look, and she bursts into actual giggles, doubling over. “Cruel, Britt. Just cruel,” You huff playfully, your cheeks heating, and make a move to walk away, and Brittany’s giggles turn into full-bodied laughs as she grabs at your wrists to tug you into her arms.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Brittany says around a laugh, her hands tugging your wrists further against her chest, even as you try to wiggle free from her grasp. A smile threatens to break across your lips but you keep your scowl on your face. “Your eyes practically glazed over when I told you that I was washing my Jeep today.”

You huff again, but the corner of your lips twitch upwards, your hands trailing down to loop around her waist. “Do you even wash your car manually?”

Brittany’s blue eyes shine with mirth as she responds with a cheeky grin, “Not really.”

You just shake your head, your grin finally breaking across your face. “I really can’t stand you,” you deadpan, your grin betraying you, and Brittany gasps dramatically in response. 

You try to pull free from her again, but her arms just tighten around you as she wraps her arms around your back, her laugh shaking through you. Your fingers go to her sides in retaliation and she squeaks, pushing you away, and you scramble for the hose that she dropped nearby.

“Santana, no, please!” Brittany begs between laughs, ducking behind her Jeep. “You’ve gotta conserve water! We’re in a drought!”

You stop and make a noise of consideration since it’s a pretty good point that only Brittany would think to bring up right now, and Brittany ducks her head back out to peek at you and see if her plea worked. But you just turn the spray on, delighting in her squeal as the water splashes her, as you holler, “Should’ve thought of that before!”

You’re sure that if her neighbors were to pass by, you two would look like _such_ an obnoxious cliché, shrieking and spraying water everywhere in the hot sun, both of you getting drenched as you chase Brittany around the Jeep with the water hose, an exhilarated grin on your face.

But you find yourself not really giving a shit. Brittany has this uncanny way of making you embrace the clichés these days.

Like last week when Brittany dragged you all the way to Anaheim because she was personally offended that you’ve never been to Disneyland despite living in Southern California all your life. Even though you groaned over how undoubtedly crowded it would be on a Saturday and how you both are too old for Disneyland (“No one is too old for Disneyland,” Brittany just argued in return.) and how Brittany forced you to change after taking one look at your skintight dress and heeled boots (“Santana, this is _so_ not sensible Disneyland attire. Have you been to a theme park before? Also, why don’t you have any shoes that have an actual sole?”), it wasn’t as bad as you were imagining.

Yes, you were a little embarrassed when the first thing Brittany did as soon as you entered the park was tug you by the wrist over to the nearest merchandise stand and plopped a set of Minnie ears on your head to match the set of Minnie ears on hers, attached to a Dodgers cap, of course. “It’s tradition,” Brittany said plainly in a no-nonsense tone, the one that you’ve quickly found out means there’s no use arguing with her.

But even after suffering through being near entirely too much children for hours and going on almost every ride, it was kind of, sort of wonderful to end the day with Brittany’s arms wrapped around your waist, her chin resting on top of your head, watching the fireworks zoom across the night sky above the signature Disneyland castle.

It was entirely worth the six laughing emojis along with a comment that said, _“You’re officially_ that _cheesy couple,”_ that Quinn put on your Instagram picture of you and Brittany kissing in front of the castle, matching Minnie ears on your heads.

So fuck it. You guess you _are_ officially one of those couples. 

You’re cheesy and cliché and you’re loving every minute of it.

/

After you and Brittany get thoroughly soaked, waste entirely too much water, and the soap and water ends up drying in smudged streaks across Brittany’s Jeep, you end up calling a truce when you both wave rags in each other’s directions and actually get down to washing Brittany’s Jeep properly. 

You’re finishing up wiping down the hood together, standing side by side with the occasional bouts of giggles still cropping up from the water fight, and you knock your hips into hers, shooting her a glance from the corner of your eyes.

Brittany’s cheeks are red from the sun and from laughing, her blonde hair darkened and stringy with water, and she catches your glance, biting down her smile and shaking her head at you. Your eyes trail downwards, tracing along skin still damp, before stifling another giggle once you eye her shoulders.

Blue eyes narrow at you. “What?”

Your mouth twitches. “Your shoulders are going to be _so_ sunburnt.”

Brittany knocks her hip against you, making you stumble a little, and you can’t help but laugh then. “Shut up. We could’ve been done an hour ago if you didn’t start a water fight.”

“You started it first,” you raise an eyebrow at her, grinning widely.

Brittany rolls her eyes at you, but you watch as a smile slowly grows on her lips until it breaks across, the width of her grin matching yours. “True,” she admits, and you both burst into giggles again.

Brittany gives a final swipe across the hood with the rag in her hand, standing back to evaluate both of your handiwork. You follow suit, stepping back and tilting your head, and well, you’re pretty proud, if you say so yourself. 

Brittany’s Jeep is gleaming in the sun, the white paint spotless and the black trim and rims sparkling deeply. It’s not bad at all, considering you usually don’t manually wash any car, not even your own, and Brittany looks exceptionally pleased, letting out a low whistle as she walks around her car, taking it all in.

“Not bad, Lopez,” she teases as she rounds back around the hood to you, looping the rag in her hands around your neck to tug you closer with it. 

You follow easily, hooking your fingers in the damp belt loops of Brittany’s denim shorts, as you press against her. “So I think, as a reward for my hard work…” you trail off.

Brittany quirks an eyebrow as she looks down at you through her eyelashes, blue eyes darkening. “Yeah?” She breathes out, smile on her face, as she dips her head closer to yours.

You lean upwards slowly, letting your breath waft over her lips and watching as Brittany’s eyelashes flutter, before finishing, “...that you let me drive your Jeep.”

Brittany’s head jerks back in an instant and you almost want to laugh at how high her eyebrows have raised, but you keep one of yours arched as you stare after her expectantly.

Brittany hesitates, shooting you a nervous grin. “Um, you want to drive Betty?”

You roll your eyes at the nickname, even if it _is_ endearing. “Yes, Britt. Come on. You never let me drive her.”

Brittany lets out a breathy laugh, fiddling with the rag still looped around your neck. “Yeah, but no one’s allowed to drive her but me. And she’s a lot bigger than your car.”

You narrow your eyes a little. “You’re really not going to let me drive her after I spent hours washing her by _hand_ in the _heat_ for you?”

You lock eyes with her, eyebrow still raised, and yeah, you’re laying it on pretty thick, but you can practically watch her resolve crumble and you try not to look smug as she lets out a begrudging sigh.

“Okay, fine. But just down to the taco shop down the street because I’m starving,” Brittany relents and you bounce on your heels, kissing her cheek soundly.

/

So you almost run over a trash can, climb over at least three curbs, and Brittany’s knuckles are still a little white from how hard she was gripping the passenger handrail, but you manage to successfully get you and Brittany to the taco shop down the block.

You’re finishing up one of your tacos, dabbing at your mouth with a napkin, and you look up across the table to see Brittany mid-bite, and for some reason, something warms in your chest, leaving you slightly breathless.

Brittany’s blonde hair has long dried into wild waves that are almost curly at the ends, and you can see the tops of her shoulders beneath her hair already starting to turn red, like you mentioned earlier. Her knees are knocking into yours beneath the tiny wooden table you both are seated at outside the small taco shop, the sun starting to dip in the sky and shining through tall palm trees casting shapes onto the pavement, cars bustling by, and when Brittany feels your eyes on her, her eyes dart up to meet yours and she tilts her head at you questioningly, still mid-chew.

You just chuckle, shaking your head slightly, because you’ve long embraced what you’re willing to do for the blonde across from you. You’ve known for awhile now that only for Brittany would you stand in the sun for half the day, sweating to death and getting soaked in the process, just to help her wash her car painstakingly by hand. 

But you realize that, on Brittany’s end, only for _you_ would she let you drive her Jeep that she clearly cherishes and not complain a single second.

And it floors you a little.

“You kinda like me, huh?” You ask, half teasing, half serious, a lopsided smile on your face.

You adore the way Brittany’s always an open book with you, taking in the way her face unravels when you speak, her _everything_ brightening and her eyes crinkling as she smiles at you, blue eyes sparkling.

“Yeah. Just kinda,” Brittany responds in the same tone, but you watch as she bites down on her lip, breaking away from your gaze and glancing down at the table as her cheeks ruddy with color, her grin wide across her lips.

It floors you that you have the same effect on her that she has on you.

/

**Game 51 of 162**

Brittany had once said to you that the summer is when the Dodgers thrive. 

“It always takes a few weeks for us to get going,” Brittany had mentioned after a grueling April loss, head high with a hopeful smile as you two walked among a shuffling crowd of fans exiting the stadium. “But when summer hits, things’ll get better. The ball carries farther with the heat and Chavez Ravine gets a different energy and the team kind of just… feeds from it all.”

And true to Brittany’s word, the Dodgers start turning things around.

In the spring, the team had been middling around an even number of wins and losses, but with the turn of summer, the number of wins in the win column start piling up. The team just starts playing _better._ The rookie you took an interest in, Cody Bellinger, sets a franchise record to be the first Dodger to hit five home runs in just his first 11 games. One of the players who wasn’t even on the roster when the season opened, Chris Taylor, starts hitting like crazy, leading the team in batting average. Justin Turner, one of the best hitters on the team and in the whole league, goes on a hot streak and sets a career-high hitting streak of 16 straight games with a hit.

And it’s not just the offense, but the pitching gets better too. Alex Wood, one of the starting pitchers for the Dodgers, pitches 28 total innings without allowing a single run. Kenley Jansen, the closing pitcher for the Dodgers, continues on a record-setting streak of strikeouts. In fact, the entire Dodgers bullpen, the pitching staff who come in after the starting pitcher exits the game, puts up a record performance—pitching over 24 innings combined without allowing a single run.

So more often than not, there’s always a ball making its way out into the stands, an opposing batter swinging and missing, and you and Brittany are cheering on any given summer night, the afternoon dusk providing a picture perfect setting to Dodgers Stadium.

You don’t think today will be any different, based on how the past few weeks of summer games have gone. In fact, heading into this game against the Chicago Cubs, the Dodgers have won the past three games in a row so you’re feeling pretty confident that it’ll be a great game ahead, especially with Kershaw on the mound for the Dodgers.

You grin as Brittany pulls up to the curb, her white Jeep gleaming in the early morning sun. Dressed in your now worn and comfortable _PIERCE_ jersey, you wave as Brittany sets the Jeep into park and reach for the passenger door handle, climbing in to settle into the passenger seat when—

“Britt, uh, what’s with the broom?”

A long handle broom is propped up in the passenger seat and Brittany pops her head up from where she’s digging in her center console.

“Oh, just toss that in the back for now. We’ll need it for the game.”

You do as she says and climb in, even as you smile amusedly. “And why do we need a _broom_ for the game?”

Brittany finally comes up with what she was looking for—her trusty pair of aviators—and slips them onto her face, setting out onto the road. “Oh, because we’re going for the sweep today.”

You’re afraid to ask once you eye the self-satisfied grin on Brittany’s face, but you roll your eyes playfully and ask anyways. “And what’s a sweep?”

Brittany giggles, looking smug. “It’s when you win all the games in a short series of games against another team and, in this case, we’ll definitely need the broom because we are totally going to _sweep_ the Cubs today!”

“Oh my god,” you mutter affectionately at how eager Brittany’s grin is and how wonderfully ridiculous your girlfriend is. “And let me guess, we have some history with the Cubs.”

It’s not a hard guess at all, considering Brittany’s wearing a snarky shirt that says _FLY THE L_ about the opposing team in question underneath her matching _LOPEZ_ jersey that you got her last weekend.

Brittany nods seriously. “Yup. We lost to them in the Championship round of the playoffs last year, which is the farthest we’ve ever gotten to to the World Series in years, and then they went on to win the World Series last year. So this series is a total revenge series. If we win today’s game and sweep the Cubs, we’re gonna make a statement against the reigning champs that this year is _our_ year.”

“Gotcha,” you nod in return, only slightly succeeding in masking your amused smile. But Brittany catches it anyways, reaching out to give you a slight shove, and you giggle. “Hey, thanks again, by the way, for making today happen. Quinn and I can’t get Sam to shut up over it.”

Today also happens to be Sam’s birthday and, after multiple days of pleading and following you around the office, Quinn successfully convinced you to get Brittany to score two more seats next to Brittany’s season ticket seats for the occasion.

Brittany smiles at you. “Of course! I’m surprised we haven’t all caught a game sooner.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, I’m not. Sam’s been begging me to tag along for months, but only because he’s obsessed with the seats. So beware, he’s probably gonna bug you about them today.”

Brittany chuckles. “Play nice, San. It’s his birthday, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumble, but shoot her a smile. Soon enough, Brittany’s pulling up to Quinn’s house, the other couple in question decked in Dodgers gear, and you roll down the window as Brittany parks at the curb. “Get in, losers,” you yell out.

Quinn shoots you a glare as she and Sam stride towards Brittany’s Jeep. “Nice, S. Piss off my whole neighborhood, why don’t you,” Quinn snipes as she clambers in.

You roll your eyes, barking out a laugh. “Who gives a shit about your bougie ass neighborhood, Q?”

Quinn promptly ignores you as she buckles herself in, instead turning to Brittany. “Hi, Santana’s _clearly_ better half. Thanks again for the tickets.”

Brittany giggles at you when you huff at Quinn’s response, but then Sam’s climbing in and slamming the door shut. “Thanks again, you guys! Best birthday ever!” Sam exclaims, buckling himself in.

You turn around in your seat, pointing at him. “Okay, here’s the rules: no bugging Brittany over the seats, you guys are still paying for all of your own shit because it’s hella expensive at the stadium, and absolutely _no_ impressions. Got it?”

Sam looks like he’s about to protest but you just arch an eyebrow and he shuts his mouth, quickly nodding. “Got it.”

Brittany just laughs next to you, shaking her head as she grins. 

/

It’s the seventh inning stretch and you’re a couple innings worth of beers in, a heady buzz fully in place. It’s a damn fine Los Angeles afternoon and the Dodgers are leading the Cubs, 7-4. The game’s been a classic so far, home run after home run hit by the Dodgers, the offense clicking as the team steamrolls towards a win against the reigning World Series champions.

You stand and stretch languidly, looping an arm around Brittany’s waist in what’s become a standard routine for these seventh inning stretches.

Brittany’s aviators are on your face, her cap long stolen and placed on your head instead, and you’re grinning widely up at her. Brittany giggles down at you, tugging down the brim of her cap on your head.

“Ready?” Brittany asks, bright smile on her face as she loops her arm around your shoulders.

“Always,” you respond back and she drops a kiss onto your warm cheek.

Next to you, Sam has his arms braced around Quinn who’s rolling her eyes skyward affectionately, and you can’t help but laugh at the expression on her face.

The organist kicks offthe opening notes to _Take Me Out to the Ballgame_ and you lock eyes with Brittany, a wide smile on your lips, and sing along, swaying with her in place. In the background, you register Sam wailing the lyrics dramatically, Quinn letting out a groan of frustration, the stadium of thousands joining in, a wave of unified sound.

But really, all you register is Brittany, her voice slightly wavering with laughter as she glances over to Quinn and Sam and shakes her head, but still carrying down to you, light and clear.

/

The Dodgers win against the Cubs with a final score of 9-4.

Your voice is hoarse after cheering all through the game, a now all too familiar feeling, and you have your arms looped around Brittany’s waist as you walk through the stadium towards the exit. Brittany’s raising the broom she made a point to bring resolutely above her head, a smug grin on her face, as she chants, “Swept the Cubs! Swept the Cubs!” Ahead of you, Sam is high fiving strangers as he passes them, still whooping in victory, and Quinn’s laughing at him with her fingers tangled in his free hand.

And you bite down your lip and wonder once again for the umpteenth time in the past few weeks how the hell you got so damn lucky.

Just six months ago, a typical weekend would’ve looked like hours spent alone, hunched over your laptop and overworking yourself through the evening, ending in a mess of whiskey to try and wash away the emptiness and a nameless one night stand that would’ve meant nothing to you the next day. And you almost can’t believe all of the days that passed you by as you worked yourself to the bone just months ago, all the nights of loneliness that burned into you.

Because the difference now is almost immeasurable and it makes your heart ache in the best way possible when you try to grasp it.

Now, you’re basking in the afternoon sun, enjoying the unmistakable adrenaline of a team winning in a sport you never would’ve pictured yourself liking ages ago, with your best friends at your side. You could’ve never imagined this, could’ve never thought that you were living life on autopilot, could’ve never seen that you were missing out on this. The pressures of work are still in the background, the demands of life still always present, but the emptiness is gone. You’re happy. You really are. The feeling’s not so foreign anymore, but you’re still not used to it because now, your days feel fuller, lighter, easier.

And most of all, now, you have Brittany.

Your heart swells when you look up at her, her head thrown back in a laugh, and you can’t believe that it’s been almost half a year since you’ve met Brittany, since she came barreling into your life with her bright smile and those blue eyes. You haven’t tired of the way she makes you feel, your chest swirling with so many emotions that it makes you feel like you’re struggling to catch your breath every time you look at her.

And today, those emotions swelled and swelled in your chest, to the point where you felt overwhelmed, completely and utterly overwhelmed with the force of it, and you felt it encompass you, rising in your chest and tipping into your throat and lingering on your tongue.

You feel like you’re forgetting something important or maybe even remembering something you’ve needed to know and you’re feeling this tugging, nameless ache drawing you tightly, growing stronger with every passing day, an incomprehensible urge to put a name to the rush of emotions that make you feel weak in the knees every time you meet blue ocean eyes, every time your fingers thread with hers, every time you wake to a smattering of blonde hair across your pillow and limbs tangled with yours.

But not yet.

You swallow thickly, pushing the pressing urge down, and stop right where you’re standing, tugging Brittany to whirl around and face you, and you curl a hand around her neck to tug her lips to yours and you just kiss her. You keep your eyes open for a second just to watch the surprise color her eyes before she smiles against your lips, kissing you back, and you let your eyelids fall shut and you lose yourself in her kiss.

For now, you’re going to enjoy what the rest of the summer brings.


End file.
